Accio Brain!
by KafkaExMachina
Summary: and other moments of sheer brilliance. A collection of drabbles, outtakes, and half-baked story ideas bouncing around my head. Rated M for manure.
1. Will He Be Happy Omake

**Note to new readers**: This is probably the worst introduction to the series I could possibly have, but I'm not sure if I should replace it with something else. I would **strongly** recommend skipping to the next chapter (or better yet chapters 3, 4 or 5) to get a feeling for what the series of drabbles is **actually** like - a set of short story ideas/abandoned plot bunnies. The most popular chapters are 7, 11, 12 and 15 - you could probably start there and have a much better reading experience. Please don't judge the rest of the series on this first chapter. It's best skipped, really.

Will He Be Happy – Outtakes.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work. Um… I did write Will He Be Happy, though.

A\N – If I can't mock myself, somebody else will. If you've got more for me, send 'em in via PM (or ask for my email address through PM), I'll post 'em and give you credit.

Warning: Contains spoilers for the relevant chapters of Will He Be Happy.

* * *

Chapter One:

-No, seriously, despite what you think, Potter isn't gay-

Snape threw his hands into the air. "For the last bloody time, Albus, Potter IS! NOT! GAY!"

"But… what about that time in the fourth-floor girl's bathroom? And all those times in my office? And the broom closets? And the vacation we shared in the Turkish Bathhouse? Or all of those trips to see Broadway Musicals followed by my penthouse suite?" Albus whimpered.

"That wasn't Potter, that was polyjuice," Snape replied, "each and every time."

"How can you be so certain?" Albus asked, shocked.

"I've got needs, old friend. I've got needs."

* * *

Chapter One:

- Hmmm… so Hermione might not be the only one to fit the criteria-

Snape stared at Albus. "What the boy needs is a woman who, time and time again, has shown that she is willing to care for him, no matter the damage. A woman who's spent hours alone with Harry, who will always accept him into her bed. A woman who will make sure he heals, that he'll take care of himself."

Albus nodded sagely. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Madam Pomfrey, of course."

* * *

Chapter One:

-Not gay: redux-

Snape threw his hands into the air. "For the last bloody time, Albus, Potter IS! NOT! GAY!"

"Then why is it that he keeps a can Crisco in his trunk, especially seeing as he doesn't cook when he's at Hogwarts?" Albus riposted smugly.

Snape paused for a moment. "Hmmm… I see. Well, that certainly changes things."

* * *

Chapter Four:

-You don't love me, you just love my Doggy-Style-

Sirius growled, leaping to the defense of his godson. "Snivellus, shut your mouth or I'll…"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Kill me? Too late, and done by a better man than you! What, no witty retort from the flea-bitten mutt?"

Sirius growled. "I'll bloody well hump your leg for eternity."

"As a dog," Snape asked in a flat voice, "or as a man?"

Sirius morphed and proceeded to violate Snape's trousers. UnF! OrT! UnF! OrT!

"AH MERLIN MY EYES! MY POOR VIRGINAL EYES!" Harry screamed.

* * *

Chapters Four, Five, Six:

-this goes out to my dedicated reviewers. Information comes from wikipedia-

Snape waited impatiently for Albus to finish reading his letters. "Well?" He asked snarkily.

Albus raised an eyebrow. "Well, there seems to be a bit of confusion later on in the letters. First you refer to Hermione as Ms. Granger, and then you suddenly shift to calling her Mrs. Granger. Now, unless you are actually referring to Hermione's mother, you should call her Miss. Granger. It's rather disconcerting."

Snape grumbles. "What's the bloody difference? I mean, it's a pain to have to fix all of the letters just to rectify one measly error."

Albus favored Snape with a stern look. "Now Severus, the titles make a very big difference. Although the common usage of Miss and Mrs. to differentiate between marital status did not arise until the seventeenth century, you are not a Flamel and therefore do not have an excuse for their misuse. Miss refers to an unwed female, while Mrs. refers to a married woman. The appellation Ms. is a relatively new invention favored by feminists, and is believed to have first appeared as a typographical error on a copy of News & Letters, but was later trumpeted as an integral part of non-sexist language."

Snape harrumphed. "Bah. Irregardless of the fact –"

Albus shook his head sadly. "Severus, irregardless isn't a real word."

Snape ground his teeth together. "That is up to debate."

"Regardless, you shouldn't use 'irregardless.' You are a professional." Albus chided.

"I loath you," Snape replied.

* * *

Chapter Seven:

-This one goes out to Fenrir and all the other people who suffered through Hermione's metal dialogue. -

Abject desperation propelled Hermione's limbs forward. She knew with complete certainty that if she could not terminate Harry's escape the probability of his fatality approached unity. Pursuing him through a copse of deciduous greenery she ascertained her best opportunity when Harry's foot came into conflict with an obfuscated obstruction in the form of a knobby wooden protuberance. Hermione immediately flung herself bodily at Harry's off-balance body angling her approach so her willowy frame would impact his torso co-joining her center of gravity with his ensuring that his current vector or motion would no longer be orthogonal to the pull of gravity.

Unfortunately, she didn't factor in the incredible density of her thought processes, as well as the wind resistance caused by her inflated vocabulary.

WHAM! She slammed face-first into a tree.

Harry snorted. "That'll learn yah to use them 24k plated words."

* * *

Chapter Seven:

-because everybody loves deviant!Luna-

"Hello Harry, Hello Hermione," a soft and breezy voice called out from above them. Harry and Hermione's eyes tracked the voice to its owner. Luna Lovegood sat on a low branch near the pair staring with her buggy blue eyes and a wistful smile. "Oooooh, does this mean that Harry likes anal sex? Can I join in? I brought my own!"

Harry and Hermione boggled as she whipped out a foot-long pink sparkly banana and expertly affixed it to the front of her dress with a sticking charm.

Luna giggled. "I even have Crisco!"

* * *

Chapter Nine:

-Thespians are a man's best friend-

Harry tried to swallow the lump that spontaneously appeared in is throat, but his mouth decided that it wanted to change occupations to 'desert'. "Ah… well… you see… I really don't know if there's a good way to tell you this…"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'VE GOT THE WRONG WEASLEY?" Mrs. Granger shrieked.

"THAT'S RIGHT, I"M GOING TO BE MRS. GINEVRA WEASLEY!" Hermione screamed back.

Harry winced. "…but I'm positive that was not it."

* * *

Chapter Nine:

-Because there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who won't touch Tequila, and those who wish they never had.-

He shook his head. "Bloody hell, Hermione, now I'm getting a bit jumpy around you."

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked. "I'd never do something like that to-"

Harry winced. "Um… yes you would. If you thought it was for my own good."

"No I wouldn't!" She denied frantically.

"Firebolt," Harry replied dryly.

Hermione's shoulders fell, and she began to sniffle. "Alright, I did. But you don't understand…"

Harry growled. "What's not to understand? You bloody messed with my memories!"

"No, no, it wasn't like that…you were begging me to!" She cried.

Harry looked at her coldly. "Right… well, let's hear it then."

Hermione shuddered. "Well, you see we were hunting for Horcruxes, and we came across a full bottle of Cuervo Gold… we decided to make Snakebites and Margaritas… so, um, one thing led to another and, um, well… You know Harry, you and Ron really showed me how much you loved each other."

Harry paled. "Um… like a friendly hug between best mates, right?"

Hermione nodded. Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's if you define a friendly hug between best mates as four straight hours of arse-shagging," she mused thoughtfully.

"AH! IT BURNS! THE FORBIDDEN KNOWLEDGE BURNS MY MIND!"

"_Obliviate,_" Hermione replied. "Honestly Harry, you really should learn to trust my judgment on these sorts of things," she huffed.

.


	2. Reincarnated Rat?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A/N: I have a sick fascination with the "Harry Potter dies and …" challenges, but my mental illness lies in other characters.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew felt the pain from the silver hand around his neck slip away as his vision filled with gray. As he braced himself for the damnation he'd earned, he heard an ethereal voice whisper in his ear:

"Would you redeem yourself?"

He wished he could nod.

"When?"

'October Thirty-first, 1981,' he thought, 'my greatest failure.'

"So mote it be."

Peter startled awake. He found himself in his rat form, following his Master towards Godric's Hollow. 'It can't be…' he thought. He watched as his Master kicked in the door, facing down James. 'No… I won't let this happen!'

"You can't face me and win, Potter. Step aside. I'm here for the boy!" Voldemort taunted, wand facing James.

"No, I won't let you!"

"Very well," Voldemort said, "Avada Keda-"

"CRUCIO!" Wormtail screamed.

Voldemort, caught completely unawares, fell screaming to the floor. Peter fired another crucio at his hated master. Still focusing on the spell, he dashed up and curb-stomped his former master's arm. He grinned as he heard Voldemort's wand arm snap like kindling.

"CRUCIO!" Wormtail screamed. "You sorry little bitch! You thought I'd be so low as to betray my friends? CRUCIO!" Peter grinned malevolently at the writhing body of Tom Riddle. "REDUCTO!" Voldemort's head exploded like a Hefty Bag™ filled with vegetable soup. "REDUCTO!" There went Voldemort's torso, spraying Voldie-bits all over the sidewalk. "BUGGER IT! CRUCIO!" Peter discovered that, even lacking a brain and upper torso, Riddle's legs twitched quite nicely. "DIFFINDO DIFFINDO DIFFINDO!" He gleefully mauled the corpse.

James stared at his friend in shock. Peter grinned back and then pointed his wand straight into the air. "MorsMaurader!"

A giant green glowing skull with a snake crawling out of its mouth appeared in the air. Seconds later a gargantuan red rat proceeded to violate the skull in ways that broke several laws, both mortal and natural. James felt a bit ill watching the display, but didn't let a little obstacle like mind-boggling nausea interfere with his mirth. He laughed until he puked, or at least laughed while he puked.

"Peter, making you the secret-keeper has got to be the best idea Sirius ever thought of," he congratulated in-between heaves.

Peter savored both the irony and his salvation.


	3. Because everybody wants a lil'

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: This story is in no way based off of an actual mental breakdown that occurred at a Con one year. Really.

The idea came from all the times I got sideswiped by a 'uber-bitch' Hermione appearing in a fanfic.

Oh yeah, and in Canon too.

* * *

Harry staggered down the stairs, scar throbbing from another Voldemort induced nightmare. He'd barely managed to shower and dress himself, thankfully without waking his dorm-mates. It was ungodly early in the morning, but there wasn't a Neville's chance in potions that he'd be able to get back to sleep. Internally, he debated a quick run to the kitchens, but the churning mess that was his stomach quickly nixed that idea. Grumbling, he grabbed his transfiguration textbook, a roll of parchment, ink and his quills. 'Might as well make use of the extra time,' he thought. 

He plopped down at one of the tables in the common room and started his work. He'd managed to write a few good paragraphs before he heard somebody walking down the girls' stairs. He looked up to see Hermione clutching her school supplies. He waved feebly.

Hermione took in the dark bags under Harry's eyes, as well as the unconscious strain carried in his shoulders. Her eyes darted over to his open textbook, and she realized Harry was working on a homework assignment due in a week. She cautiously walked over and set her things down across from her best friend. "Do you mind if I sit here?" She asked, hesitantly.

Harry shrugged.

For about thirty minutes, only the sound scratching of quill against parchment and low mutterings filled the silence of the early morning. Finally, Hermione decided to ask her question. Hesitantly, fearing another outburst she asked, "Another nightmare?"

Harry shrugged, but didn't meet her eyes.

Hermione sighed. "Oh Harry, did you use Occulmency like you were supposed to?"

Harry glared at Hermione briefly, but reigned in his frayed temper. Hermione didn't seem to notice, or care. "Honestly Harry, if you would apply yourself to Occlumency like you do Quidditch you wouldn't have to go through this every night! After all, Professor Snape is supposed -"

"Damnit Hermione, don't lecture me!" Harry barked, annoyed at Hermione and his pounding headache. "What do you know about anything? You have no idea what it's like!"

Hermione huffed, her face flushed. "What do I know?" She asked archly.

Harry glared. "Yeah, it's not like you're the one taking lessons with that greasy git, it's not like you have any idea how hard it is to-"

"I know exactly how hard it is to learn Occlumency!" Hermione retorted. "As soon as the Headmaster told you to learn it I got a pass from Professor Flitwick and checked out a book on Mind Magics!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Of course, not like you bothered to tell me. I suppose that your prefect duties took up all of your time?" Hermione gasped at the venom and barely-concealed envy in Harry's voice. "Unless you've had Snape rooting through your memories don't tell me you know how hard it is to learn. It's not like you've done anything other than research it. I'm the one whose-"

"Harry James Potter! How dare you get angry at me because you are too lazy to apply yourself! I'll have you know that Ron and I learned the basics of Occlumency in under a week! It was bloody simple, and even though Professor Snape isn't a very good teacher he is a master Occlumens, so –"

"You mean to tell me that you and Ron learned Occlumency and didn't bother telling me?" Harry asked dangerously. His head throbbed, and knives of rage and pain stabbed out from his scar.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You don't believe me?" She whipped out her wand. "_Legilimens_!"

Harry barely had time to gape in surprise before he felt a whisper-smooth velvet touch caress his mind, banishing his headache. Stunned, he felt the force easily out-maneuver what resistance he had, and almost faster than he could bear memories flashed past his eyes, one after another. They blurred so quickly he found himself unable to resist, even when Hermione paused to consider a particular memory. Worse yet, she seemed to observe three or four at a time, further garbling his mind, preventing him from mustering the will to resist. For every painful or embarrassing memory, she'd also view two pleasant ones, all laid over each other like ghosts. He sat helplessly as his childhood, the Chamber of Secrets, his nightmares, Snape's teaching, Umbridge, the pain and loneliness of the previous summers locked away in his room mingled with the precious few joyful recollections he held.

* * *

Hermione finally had enough of Harry's temper, and she decided to teach him a lesson about good study habits along with finally getting some answers out of her friend that contained more than four words. Snapping her wand out, she quickly slipped into Harry's mind, easily smoothing the jagged shards of emotionally charged thought's he'd flung up in surprise. Knowing how the kind of magical power Harry possessed, as well as his ability to throw off the Imperious Curse, she opted for her sneakiest trick, something she'd coined multi-browsing. She supposed some people didn't think in layers the way she did; an observation she'd made when she'd started practicing with Ron. On the flip side, using her normal recollection techniques when searching someone else's memories kept Ron utterly befuddled, and it'd usually let her sift through his memories for a good twenty seconds before he'd blank her out. Idly she noted that Ron showed a great deal of talent and practice at keeping his mind free of thought. She wasn't terribly impressed, but it worked well enough. Her own defenses centered around either leaving her mind empty, or simply boring her attacker into submission. At least, that's what Ron called it. 

She snorted internally at Harry's meager Occlumency skills. Not only did he have no real ability to calm his mind or prevent her from paging through the "emotional index" of his memories (rage, angst, Quidditch, angst, terror, angst, loneliness, angst, friendship, angst). She deliberately kept his mind off-guard by overlaying a few happy memories with whatever she wanted to see. Deciding to make her point well known, she browsed for any memories about herself that Harry didn't want her to know. 'Jackpot,' she thought as she found a healthy number of racy fantasies while he wanked off in the shower, all the times he admitted he loved her in his mind, even the time he whispered it to her while she was petrified. Satisfied she'd made her point, she ended the spell.

Harry gaped at her, blushing. Hermione gave Harry her best superiour smile. "See? If you'd just apply yourself you'd learn it in no time."

Harry gurgled, mortified at what she'd seen. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly Harry, it's not that big of a deal. Guys do that all the time." Harry whimpered, then blushed.

"Um… what about?" He asked, hesitantly.

"Oh, um… right. Oh Harry, what were you thinking? I mean, really. You and me, dating? I think you let those articles get to your head, making you simply delusional." Hermione replied casually. Harry's head dropped, crestfallen at her easy rejection. Hermione patted his hand consolingly.

"What about, you know, the time you said 'I never looked more fanciable?'" Harry asked.

Hermione sighed. "Oh Harry, I was lying. You know, to make you feel better?"

He dropped his head into his arms. Today was working hard for the title of 'worst day ever.'

"Oh Harry," Hermione said, "don't be that way. I mean, compared to the rest of your life its pretty much par for the course." Content that she'd successfully fended off Harry's unwanted affections while at the same time consoling him, Hermione returned to her homework. She rolled her eyes at his muffled sobs. "Harry, don't cry! You'll ruin your essay!"

Harry's mind snapped. He started to laugh. Hermione smiled, happy that her friend was feeling better. He laughed louder. She stopped smiling, becoming a bit cross. "Harry, it wasn't that funny."

Harry fell out of his chair laughing.

"Harry," Hermione shouted, "stop that! You'll wake up the whole tower!"

Harry stopped laughing, and gave her an odd look.

She raised her eyebrow.

"Give me head."

"Excuse me?!?" Hermione screeched.

Harry smiled. "Give me head!" He waggled his eyebrows.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!" Hermione shouted.

Dean staggered blearily down the stairs. "Oi! What's with all the yelling this bloody early in the morning?"

Harry turned and smiled widely at his dorm-mate. "Morning Dean," he said sunnily, "give me head!" Dean blinked twice, shook his head, and staggered back up the stairs muttering the whole way. Harry pouted.

"Harry," Hermione hissed, "what are you thinking?"

Harry stood up. "I'm thinking that if you won't give me head, I'll find somebody who will." He gathered his things off the table, packed his bag for class, and walked out the portrait, leaving Hermione behind to fume.

* * *

Harry beamed at Malfoy and his thugs as he passed them on the way to the Great Hall. Malfoy sneered at Harry. "Why so happy, Scar-head? Finally decided to make the world a better place and kill yourself?" His goons laughed stupidly at the joke while Draco grinned. 

Harry smiled back at Malfoy. "Give me head," he casually commanded.

Draco blinked. That wasn't what he expected. "Excuse me?"

"Head. Me. Give." Harry replied.

"Have you lost your bloody mind, Potter?" Draco asked.

"Probably. Give me head," Harry cheerfully replied.

Draco growled and scuttled away from Harry before walking quickly past him. "You've bloody lost it, Scar-head," he called back.

Harry shrugged and walked into the Great Hall. He sat down at the Head Table in Snape's usual spot, deciding that perhaps his luck would improve. The few students already present stared at him like he'd lost his mind. He smiled and waved, then scooped some eggs onto his plate.

Snape strode into the Great Hall. He froze when he saw Harry happily munching away while reading the morning paper, sitting at the Head Table, in **his** seat. He stomped over to Harry, fuming. Harry swore he could hear the man's teeth grinding. He sipped his coffee and smiled angelically at his potions professor.

"You insolent little brat!" Snape spat, his pale face growing rather red. Several of the younger students almost fainted at the sight of an apoplectic Severus. "Mr. Potter, fifty points from Gryffindor and a weeks worth of detentions! Get out of my seat this instant!"

Harry calmly took a long sip of his coffee, swallowing contentedly before saying, "Give me head." The Great Hall fell silent as Harry's words echoed. Harry raised his eyebrows expectantly.

For the first time, Snape found himself incapable of speech. Harry waited for a few moments while his professor sputtered and fumed, then shrugged a bit dejectedly and resumed reading the paper.

"POTTER!" Snape screamed, "HOW DARE YOU!"

Harry turned back to his instructor. "You know, instead of flapping your lips about wildly, you could be giving me head," Harry observed calmly, as if he were discussing the weather.

"OF ALL THE DISRESPECTFUL ARROGANT-"

"It's not that hard, Severus. My cock, your mouth," Harry said slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

With a strangled yell, Snape turned and stormed from the Hall, mumbling scathing obscenities. The other students all stared at Harry, silently. Harry looked up from the paper. "What?" They kept staring. Harry shrugged. "Give me head." Flustered, the students turned back to their meals. Harry browsed the latest article extolling his dangerously unstable mind and attention seeking ways. He smiled happily. "Oi? Any of you lot have a bit of parchment? I've got an editorial to write." A Ravenclaw fourth-year cautiously walked up to Harry and handed him a quill and parchment. Harry smiled and thanked the student. He drew out the parchment, and spoke each word aloud as he wrote his letter.

_Dear Wizarding World,_

_It seems you can't make up your minds if you love me or hate me. That's fine. I have one request: Give Me Head._

_Oh, and Voldemort, if you are reading this? I want your snake-lips around my man-meat._

_Tenderly,_

_The-Boy-Who-Gets-Head_

As if summoned, a mail owl swooped into the room. Harry addressed the parchment to the Daily Prophet, rolled it up, sealed it with a spot of jelly and tied it to the owl's leg. The owl flew off, delivering the letter.

A moment later, Umbrage walked into the Great Hall, flanked by her Inquisitors and the other Hogwarts professors. "Hem Hem," she cleared her throat. "Mr. Potter, I believe you are sitting at the wrong table." She said in her saccharine voice.

Harry smiled. Several first-years whimpered. "Oh no, I'm sitting at the right table. It is, after all, the Head Table." A couple older students groaned.

Umbrage did not appear amused. "Mr. Potter, I'm going to have to insist that you return to your table, and you will be spending several weeks with me in detention explaining your behavior."

"Give me head," Harry replied. "I mean, if you have to clear your throat so much, might as well be shuffling about my baby-batter." He looked at her innocently. "Or does this mean that you'll be spending several weeks giving me head during my detentions?"

"Mr. Potter! I will have you expelled for this!" Umbrage screeched.

Harry sighed. "You know, you are wasting perfectly valuable cock-gobbling time yelling. It's simple. Give. Me. Head. I want to feel my balls nuzzling your chin."

Umbrage gurgled for a bit and then composed herself. She let out a little sigh, and smiled. "Mr. Potter, I know your game now. You just crave attention. Very well, you naughty little boy, I'll play along."

Harry smiled. "Really?" He asked, standing up from the chair.

Umbrage nodded with a smug little smile on her toad-like face. "Well, what are you waiting for Mr. Potter?" She asked, pointing at his crotch expectantly. Mrs. McGonagall gasped, finally processing the situation while Flitwick laughed gleefully.

"I love a good floor-show with my breakfast," the diminutive charms professor explained.

"Really really? Head will be given?" Harry asked, a final time, bouncing like a child a his first Christmas.

Umbrage nodded, content that she'd called his bluff.

ZZZZIIIIIIIIIIIIPPP!!

Thud! Umbrage fainted dead away.

"Mister Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed. "I've never seen such a specimen of transfiguration, and wandless to boot!"

Harry pouted. "Aw, professor, it's naturally this size."

Minerva glowered sternly at Harry. "I was commenting on the fact that the Hogwarts uniform does not come with a fly!"

Harry looked mortified. "Oh, sorry professor." A small clot formed at the door as the students entering the room saw Umbrage passed out on the floor, Harry, and Harry Jr., standing proudly by the Head Table, looking pointedly at the other McGonagal while Flitwick rolled about on the floor, howling with laughter, his little legs kicking in the air.

"Severus, what is the meaning of this? Why won't you tell me what happened?" The Headmaster's voice called from the hallway. "Make way, make way, students." Slowly Albus and Snape forced their way through the crowd. Snape pointed, well, pointedly at Harry pointing, well, pointedly at Snape.

Dumbledore's eyes widened like a child at his first Christmas. He gurgled, and fainted dead on the spot.

Harry pouted. "Does this mean no beard tickling my balls?" He asked to the room.


	4. Tom's greatest fear: Teenangst

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: More of the Reptillia -Potter Meets Death and...- challenge ideas, excepting the Potter part.

* * *

Lord Voldemort was not having a good day. No, correction, Lord Voldemort was really not having a good day. Last he knew, he'd managed to conquer the Ministry of Magic, had scads to loyal minions and was poised to eliminate the mudblood rubbish from his home country. Then out of the blue he found out that his horcuxes were destroyed and to bugger his day right out of existence his nemesis Harry Potter somehow manages to kill him. Again!

To make things worse, the office he found himself in hadn't updated their magazine collection for at least six months. Why do they even bother getting subscriptions if they don't put out the latest news? The chairs were also distinctly uncomfortable. He missed his nose, too.

Lord Voldemort surveyed all about him. The walls were painted a hideous sea-foam and were bedecked with cheap prints of turn-of-the-century cubist artwork. The chairs were black metal frames with cheap grey padding, but the couch his lordliness sat upon was an acceptable hardwood frame with plush, if ratty, brown cushions. At the opposite end of the room a large white door stood mockingly closed. He wondered if this was his eternal punishment, to languish in boredom.

The door opened and a matronly middle-aged woman wearing a canary yellow blows and tan jumpers appeared. "Mr. Lord Voldemort?" She asked blandly.

Lord Voldemort suppressed a grimace of frustration at the woman's ineptitude. Who else could it possibly be another snake-faced corpse that he hadn't noticed? "That would be me," he said standing.

The matronly woman nodded. "Good, follow me. Next time you are going to miss an appointment please call within twenty-four hours." She turned and meandered down the sea-foam hallway. Lord Voldemort hastened to follow her.

In a moment of pique, he found himself asking, "Do you get many cancellations around here?" The matronly woman shook her head. "You and Mr. Potter are the last in a long time." She turned and stared archly at Lord Voldemort. "Mr. Potter was kind enough to call ahead, though. You should follow his example."

Lord Voldemort almost felt chastised. Finally, the matronly woman knocked on a door to her right. "Mr. Mortis, Lord Voldemort is here for his appointment."

"Show him in," a jovial voice called back. The matronly woman stood out of the way, allowing Lord Voldemort to enter the office. He noticed a comfortable looking leather chair sitting empty in front of a grand mahogany desk. Behind the desk a plump balding middle-aged man sat smiling professionally at him. Lord Voldemort took in the framed diploma from Arcadia University signifying Mr. Mortis' Ph.D in World Religions as well the a few pictures of a happy family holding a fuzzy puppy. Mr. Mortis beckoned Lord Voldemort in. "Take a seat young man, and lets have a look through your file."

Lord Voldemort sat in the leather chair and noted that it was, indeed, suitably comfortable to retain the weight of his worthy self. He waited patiently while Mr. Mortis leafed through a rather heavy stack of parchment. Lord Voldemort waited his inevitable damnation with the dignity of a conquering emperor.

Finally, Mr. Mortis placed the last sheaf of parchment back on the desk. "Well, Lord Voldemort," he said congenially, "I must say that you've caused a great deal of extra paperwork for us here in the Office." Mr. Mortis shook his head sadly. "For a newborn soul you certainly outdid yourself this time. Well, enough of that." He grabbed a loose sheaf from the middle of the stack. "It says here," he gestured with the parchment, "that I happen to be your greatest fear."

Lord Voldemort raised one (non-existant) eyebrow. "So you are Death, then?"

Mr. Mortis nodded. "One of them, at least. I'm more of a middle-management Grim Reaper I suppose." He waved his hand at the diploma. "Darn Higher education's good for something," the Middle-Manager of Death quipped with a grin. "You are in luck, Lord Voldemort, because we've had something of a temporal relaps in the celestial slip-stream and rather than forcing our staff to re-enter all the extraneous datum you so rudely provided I've decided to make a deal."

"A… deal," Lord Voldemort deadpanned.

Mr. Mortis nodded. "Well, it turns out we really don't have the budget for all the overtime you caused. So, assuming you are willing to follow a few little niggling guidelines my office will happy return you to the point of your last 're-birth'."

"Guidelines?" Lord Voldemort sneered. "I think not."

Mr. Mortis sighed. "I can't say I wasn't expecting that. Look, buddy, have you ever wondered why bad things happen to good people?"

"No."

"I suppose not. Well, I can assure you that they deserve it. You see, many of the most horrid lives belong to the souls of people who buggered up their previous existances being total swots like yourself." He looked up and to the right while twiddling his fingers. "Let me see, where do we have an opening… Ah ha! Premature Crackbaby in downtown Brooklyn!"

Lord Voldemort vanished. An instant later, Lord Voldemort reappeared screaming. Mr. Mortis nodded. "Excellent! Now try on an HIV positive girl born in Rwanda during the mid-1990's." Lord Voldemort vanished again and popped back hugging himself while babbling in Hutu. Mr. Mortis shook his head. "Not good enough… oh, I know, there's a temporary slip-stream where Mr. Potter dies at the age of seven in a car crash! You'll be absolutely **perfect** for the job." Another disappearance and reappearance later left Lord Voldemort whimpering. "Okay, now in order there's twins working the under-aged market, a couple more African children, four hundred and sixty three crack-babies and one fundamentalist." Mr. Mortis waited the short (for him) period of time before Voldemort finished his remedial lifetimes. He stared hard into the blank eyes of Lord Voldemort. "Are you ready to hear my guidelines now?"

Lord Voldemort found himself quite happily agreeing.

Mr. Mortis beamed. "Wonderful! First, no more making all that extra paperwork! While I'm sure you might have to send a couple people our way you will keep it to an absolute minimum! Second, Mrs. Cupid has been complaining long and hard about her husband's job and quite frankly you were the motivating cause behind his problems. So no more screwing up Mr. Potter's love life by distracting him from the important things! In fact," Mr. Mortis beamed, "I think you should help the lad out. Albus' interference has given poor Mr. Cupid quite a few grey hairs."

"You… want me to play matchmaker for Harry Potter?" Lord Voldemort asked completely deadpan.

"Yes! I'm glad you agree." Mr. Mortis gave Lord Voldemort a saucy wink. "Eros always said he thought a little Cissy 'n Bella time would've kept you too busy to keep **us** too busy. Consider that a guideline!"

Lord Voldemort shuddered. He'd never shared the incest fetish like Lucius. "I'll… limit myself to one, thank you."

Mr. Mortis grinned. "Common, live a little!" He made winking and elbow nudging motions.

Lord Voldemort groaned.

"Everyone's a critic," Mr. Mortis grumbled and looked through the stack of parchments again. "That seems to be it. Don't be such a prick this time. No more genocide and mass-murders. Hook Potter up with that Granger girl. In return we send you back with all memories, you see us again when you are ready. Any questions?"

"Hook Potter up with that Granger girl? It was my understanding that Harry had the most deplorable oedipal complex and the mud… Ms. Granger had the hots for jealous angry lazy stupid-type men who's faces resemble the arse-end of a skrewt."

Mr. Mortis chucked. "Oh, you mean Ms. Weasley? Little minx decided to follow in her mother's footsteps and make a better living through modern alchemy." He looked archly at Lord Voldemort. "It seems that somebodies constant death threats caused the whole schebang to get lost in the details. Ergo inappropriate attractions to some girl who looked like his mum."

Lord Voldemort nodded. "Even I think that Oedipal complexes are taking blood purity a bit far."


	5. I thought you'd be taller

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: The following story resulted in another Portkey authorship application rejection!

Some of Ginny's comments were taken unintentionally (i.e.: I didn't remember if I came up with them, or if I saw them someplace) from other stories. I'm not sure whose. Maybe. I might have deleted the ones I found somewhere else.

And so I present – The Boy-Who-Didn't-Live-Up-To-Expectations

* * *

Harry was having a very, very bad day. It didn't start off so bad, not really. Actually, it had started quite nicely. Ginny yanked him into a broom-closet for a little between class fun, and was snogging him quite spectacularly when _it_ happened. Evidently put off by the pace he was setting, she decided to take matters into her own hands, so to speak, and decided to give Little Harry a handshake.

That turned out to be the start of Harry's very, very bad day.

While he was certain the look on his own face was priceless, the look in hers left much to be desired. In fact, desire was the last thing on the list of expressions that could be used to describe her scrunched up features. Disappointment, now that was a far more fitting bit of vocabulary.

"It's so… small," she squeaked.

Upon uttering those words, whatever blood that had inhabited his hugged Hancock fled upwards, painting him redder than Ginny's hair.

"Wha?" Brilliant, really. The wittiest come-back ever.

"It's nothing, Harry. Really… it's **nothing**." Ginny shook her dainty head, withdrew her dainty hand, daintily re-adjusted her clothes, and sniffed at his dainty… whatever. "I'm sorry, Harry, I don't think we're going to work out. Really, I'm just not the kind of girl you can leave… **unfulfilled**." And with those dainty words, she walked out the broom closet and his life.

Harry was having a very, very bad day indeed. After spending the next ten minutes standing in shock, and another three cursing his genetics, he vowed to not let this revelation keep him down; all the while hoping that Ginny would keep her discovery to herself.

This turned out to be a very, very bad hope.

* * *

After a sleepless History of Magic class where Professor Binns detailed the Minimum Wand Length Law of 1669, Harry dragged himself to the Gryffindor common room with the expectation of a nice quiet mope, followed by a healthy helping of angst. In fact, he felt quite assured that he could even fit in a solid bout of existential crisis, and perhaps end the day with a pity-party for one. What Harry walked into, however, was a cacophonous conversation concerning the uncovering of his clearly concealed miniscule manhood.

"It's like a doorknob on a dollhouse!" Ginny squealed to Lavender and the other assembled girls. "It looked just like a turtle coming out of his shell! His broomstick was a feather-duster! His Harley was a unicycle! His dong went ding ding! His steeple wouldn't appeal to pious pixies! His big dog was a toy poodle! His trouser snake was a flobberworm! His man-meat would leave a girl starving! He fell out of the big dick tree and only broke a twig! His Hungarian Horntail couldn't choke a hatchling! If length is for show and width is for damage; Harry's battering ram couldn't double as a doorbell! The Madame Pomfrey was right; I only felt a little prick!" Peels of laughter followed each of Ginny's ejaculations.

Harry's very, very bad day had gotten worse.

His despondent eyes met Lavender's, and her face went from surprised, to embarrassed, to pitying yet amused. "Hey there, Harry." she barely belted out between giggles.

"Oh… hi little guy," was all Ginny would say as she stared straight at his crotch. The quiet snickers of his classmates followed him as he shuffled towards his dorm.

"This can't get any worse," Harry thought.

He thought wrong.

At that moment, he recognized one of the muted snickers. Ron's eyes were lit with malicious mirth. "Well, ladies, maybe you shouldn't consider me a sidekick anymore! After all, there's a reason why us Weasley men have such large families." He gave Lavender a meaningful look. "I've always thought our family motto should be 'Hung like a Hippogryph.'" Ron rather liked not having to worry about being in Harry's…shadow… over this particular issue. In fact, it appeared that Ron's traditional 'loyalty' to his best friend was shining through nice and clearly.

"Alright, NOW it can't get any worse," Harry thought as he examined his loafers.

Somewhere in the heavens, faint giggling could be heard.

Harry looked up at the sound of a sharp "Ron!" breaking free of Hermione's lips. "Oh no, no no no no no." he thought. His eyes met hers, and he saw Hermione wearing the worst possible expression. Her brow was scrunched up in concentration, and she had the fierce, determined look of a tigress defending her cubs. "Please, please, don't say anything" he thought, trying to thrust his telepathy into her mind, silence any sounds from her pink lips.

Evidently Harry's Legilimens lacked length. Hermione strutted imperiously towards the group of giggling gossipers, her mouth opening into a full fledged rant. Unable to take the humiliation, Harry dashed to his dorm. Her words followed behind him, flaccidly spurting into his ears.

"You should be ashamed of yourself! Haven't you read ANY books on the subject! I'll have you know that Healer Ruth said it best, 'It's not the size of the wand that matters, its how you Swish and Flick!'"

He really wanted a strong, solid slam when he flung the dorm room door shut, but all he got was a tiny thump.

It was a very, very, very bad day indeed.

* * *

His next class was, of course, potions. On a normal day, Harry would rather jerk off using Bubotuber puss as lube than face his greasy-haired nemesis. Today he debated the merits of forcible sodomy by centaur. An above average centaur, at that.

The class started normally, in that he walked in and sat down. The first indicator of a truly bad time was the look of bemusement from Pansy. The second indicator of a truly bad time was the fact that Malfoy was not, in fact, rising to the occasion, but rather giggling with a side of smirking sneer. The third indicator of a bad time was the look of sympathy from Crabbe and Goyle. Honest, heart-felt sympathy, like a family greeting a brother ravaged by war. This did little to improve Harry's mood. The fourth indicator of a truly bad time was the smug look of delight on Ron's face to his left, and Hermione's soft smile to his right, her hand trying to give him some comfort with a small, light squeeze. Oddly, that did improve Harry's mood, but not for long. The fifth indicator of a truly bad time was Hermione's soft voice, "It will be okay Harry; it's not the end of the world." The sixth indicator of a truly bad time was Ron's snorted sniggering reply, "Yeah, mate, I'm sure we can hook you up with a midget."

Finally, Snape swished into class cutting off whatever scathing reply Hermione was about to make, his robes billowing behind him like the Queen's own entourage. Snape's eyes met Harry's; the look of pure amusement dancing in them rivaled Dumbledore's when he found a new recipe for lemon drops. Harry swore he could even see Snape's eyes twinkle.

Harry tensed for the blow.

"Today, we will be creating a potion that is commonly used to treat the pain and_swelling_ from sprained limbs. It's commonly known as the Honeymoon potion," he paused to allow for the class's giggles to subside, "in order to prevent undo suffering from the bride on her first night of matrimonial duties." Harry winced as Snape looked pointedly in his direction. "Of course, _some_ of you won't have any need, but this will be on your NEWTs so I still expect that even our most _un-gifted_ students will brew it properly."

"That wasn't so bad," Harry thought.

Putz.

"Potter, pay attention!" Snape snapped at him, and then looked at him with a bemused sneer. "Just like your father, in _every_ single way. Same _short _attention span, _small _mind, and utterly _lacking _in natural talent."

The muffled sniggers of the classroom followed him until Neville managed to detonate his cauldron.

* * *

After a futile study session with Hermione, whose sympathetic glances did nothing to salvage Harry's rapidly shrinking and flaccid ego, Harry decided this disastrous day done and drug himself dejectedly into his dorm. "Just let this all be over," he thought, "before I try to fly without a broom."

Hope springs eternal.

* * *

He woke up screaming in the middle of the night; his scar burning. Harry's mind couldn't stop playing the horrible dream sent to him by the man who murdered his parents. Voldemort was knocking the boots with Bellatrix, her screams of pained pleasure echoing from the cold stone walls of the room. Harry's eyes were forced to watch Voldemort slide his basilisk into her Chamber of Secrets over and over, it's firm ten-and-a-half by Coke-can nearly splitting her in two.

"Oh yes, master, YES," she screamed, "show me who's bigger than the Boy-Who-Lived! Hurt me so hard, you huge Heir! Slam me with Salazaar's Serpet!"

Harry woke in agony, Voldemort's "WHO'S YOUR DARK LORD!" echoing in his ears. His only recourse was retching wretchedly and curling up into a little ball.

Ron's sympathetic "Shut UP Winky, **real **men are trying to sleep here!" did nothing to calm Harry's nerves.

* * *

Earlier that night, on the other side of the Gryffindor tower, Hermione was waiting impatiently for her mother's reply. Like the atypical teenage girl that Hermione exemplified, she sought out counseling for her current conundrum from a familial font. Although crafting the letter had been just a tad bit embarrassing, Hermione never let a little thing like mortification get in the way of aiding and abetting her best friend. Truth be told, this current development seemed shattering enough to risk risqué revelations. So, she carefully sorted the story onto a scroll, spelled out Harry's supposed shortcomings, and sent the letter to her sagacious mother.

It killed her, really, to see Harry so despondent. And Ginny! Honestly, a lady should never do that to her significant other. After all, every girl fourth-year and above knew that the wicked Weasley was a true size queen. Hermione would never consider using her fist like that. Not when a wand and a knuckle sufficed.

In fact, Hermione decided while pondering Harry's He-Man, her waiting should be used to prove her supposition sufficient. A muting mutter later, she relaxed into her chair and closed her eyes, visions blinding her to the waiting owl.

Hedwig hooted in disgust. Harry forgetting that owls see in the dark was one thing, but Hermione? 'Smartest Witch of Her Generation' indeed. The disgruntled huntress of the night settled down and tried to ignore the squeaks.

By the time Hermione finished, Hedwig was practically drooling over the smorgasbord of small mammal noises that wriggled free from Hermione's lips. Hedwig's feathers were quite ruffled, and her tummy was growling. It sounded like a mouse convention was in the room, and she could hardly wait to get this damn letter off of her leg so she could get something to eat.

To say Hermione was deeply disturbed at the sight of the snowy white owl staring at her with burning hunger would be to say that Draco Malfoy was the greatest gobbering git in creation.

In other words: the most gargantuan understatement of all.

Hedwig held out her leg and hooted impatiently. With shaking fingers, Hermione undid the knot that bound her letter. Giving a parting hoot, Hedwig flung herself off of the window ledge and into the night, her golden eyes seeking something small, furry, juicy and most importantly NOT attached to a naked she-monkey.

Brushing off a disturbing, yet fascinating, notion about familiar bonds, Hermione broke the seal on the scroll and began to read her mother's reply.

_Dearest Daughter,_

_I must say that both your father and I were deeply disturbed by the contents and urgency of your latest correspondence. While we both had hoped for quite some time to hear that you were no longer interested, in a non-platonic manner, in your…friend… Ronald, we never thought we'd read a missive containing queries about how to handle Harry's wee wanker._

_My goodness, those are words I'd never have expected to write, especially to my daughter._

_Now, dear, it warms my heart to know that you trust us enough with your problems to write us about even this niggling subject, but next time, PLEASE warn your father first, or address the missive to me. It was very upsetting to me to come across him choking on his tonic while holding a scroll in your delicate handwriting. The last time I'd seen him blushing that hard was our honeymoon._

_Now, to the meat of the problem. I know that you care deeply for Harry, that much is quite obvious from the sheer number of times he appears in our correspondences; however, this is, forgive me, no small matter. As you well know, men, like women, have very silly notions about the size and sufficiency of their physical attributes. Even my husband, who is not lacking in the downstairs department, suffers pangs of insufficiency when we watch certain movies together. I am certain you can sympathize, as mammoth mammaries do not run common in our heritage. Indeed, it is this shared condition of good backs amongst the women in our family that I expected to hear you angsting over, not the supposedly miniscule manhood of your supposedly platonic best friend._

_Right now your father is fretting greatly over the fact that you may, or may NOT, have gotten this information second hand. Silly dear, we are modern women after all, and I do suppose that witches have even greater means of preventing conception than we do. If not, you will find a few jimmy hats attached to the bottom of this scroll._

_Stop blushing, dear, it's for you own good._

_I mean it. Don't play in the mud without wearing your rubbers!_

_Now, back to your crisis: I will assume, as you did not see fit to tell me otherwise, that you did indeed learn this smidgeon of information from Harry's immature, silly, stupid, wretched, disgusting, malevolent, repulsive, revolting, iniquitous, British National Party member, and in all ways good-for-nothing EX-girlfriend. That was what you called her, yes? Forgive an old woman her maternal pride; it warms my heart to know how much you take after your mum._

_Where was I? Oh yes, Harry's manhood. Unfortunately, if your only aspirations are of the friendly manner, there is next to nothing you can do. Except maybe find him a good Oriental bride, perhaps that Cho girl you spoke so glowingly of. _

_Stop sputtering dear, your mother loves you._

_Oh, I can see your face now, all livid and angry with your eyes flashing and your jaw working, the very icon of righteous rage. Now that we have neatly closed the "we're only friends, mum" argument, we can approach this problem properly._

_Shag his brains out, honey, repeatedly. Shag him so hard you can't walk straight. This is important, the not walking straight part. If memory serves me right, you should be at the tail end of your Aunt Mennie visiting. Seize the moment! Nothing like a lil' blood on the willy to make a small man feel stand a little taller._

_Stop sputtering again dear, and don't worry. It helps with the cramps._

_I know you've been waiting for him to make the first move, we ladies always want to, but you need to take your immature, silly, stupid, wretched, disgusting, malevolent, repulsive, revolting, iniquitous, British National Party member, and in all ways good-for-nothing EX-friend's example on this one. The poor lad has probably suffered the worst kind of blow to his ego he can take, and won't quickly recover. In fact, I rather doubt he'd make the first move if you took a board stenciled 'I want to shag you, you daft git, ask me out' and beat him about the head and shoulders with it. Ah, the memories of my college days… that is how I snagged your father, you know._

_Stop sputtering dear, it's unbecoming. Don't tell me you believed that 'We met in the Library and it was love at first sight' nonsense your father always spouts._

_No, I strongly suspect that at this point, the best course of action is striding over to his domicile, closing the blinds, tying him to the bed and making him bone you until you both sing God Save the Queen. Speaking of, are you certain your potions professor isn't fey?_

_Yes, yes, I know, you don't want to think about him and shagging in the same context, even if it is man-love. Still, I mean, didn't you tell me that a wizard or witch's patronus changes when they fall in deeply in love? And didn't you tell me that Auror, Nymphadora Tonks (Now that's a mother with high expectations. Just in case the person meeting her was ill-read enough to miss the reference, her last name is slang for 'a quick shag'. Maybe she noted what all the girls named Chastity turned into, and tried a little reverse psychology) fell in love with your old professor, her patronus changed into a she-wolf? And wasn't Harry's father's patronus the same as Harry's, while his mother's was a doe? Yet, Snape's patronus is a doe. And you want me to believe that Snape loved Lily? I think not. Snape doesn't hate Harry because he looks like __**James**__ with Lily's eyes, he hates Harry because he looks like James with__**Lily's**__ eyes. I suppose it's fortunate that Harry takes after his father, rather than Snape's fantasies, or you'd be writing me frantically upset because you witnessed Harry bending Ron over the Common Room table._

_Stop drooling dear, your wasting perfectly good saliva._

_Well, angel, there you go. And if you have any worries about him satisfying your needs, well you need to remind him that a proper gent kneels before his queen and kisses her repeatedly. I wouldn't venture to guess that his snake-speaking abilities could come in handy when he prays at THAT particular alter, no? That is your mum's word on the matter, and you know your mum's always right._

_Lots of Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

_P.S.:Your father wants me to let you know that you should re-think the name for your planned New Atlantian Mud Blood Liberation Army political party. Evidently he dropped the acronym accidentally near one of his Yank colleagues, and the reaction was quite intense. He did, however, manage to pick up a button from him, for gag-purposes only. Your father says to give it to 'that poof of a potions professor' of yours, or that 'bloody blond berk who keeps harassing his beautiful baby.'_

Attached to the bottom of the scroll was a pair of foil-wrapped condoms, and a black button with the white letters N.A.M.B.L.A. emblazoned upon its surface. Hermione read the letter, re-read the letter, and steeled her resolve.

Well, she tried to, but her resolve was a tricky little bugger. It seemed quite impervious to steeling. In fact, if Hermione was forced to apply a substance to define her resolve at this moment she would have to place butter and Teflon™ as the top contenders. No, her resolve appeared to be pooling into a squishy puddle between her legs, definitely not stiffening her spine and propelling her legs towards her best-friend's dorm. Yes, her resolve was quite wet between her legs, and warm and itchy to boot. It was making her knees improperly weak!

Acknowledging that her resolve would most likely remain recalcitrant in the steeling department, she tackled this assignment like any other: With a list and a timetable. After all, anything worth doing is worth organizing!

So, without further delay, she grabbed her old D.A.D.A. textbook and trusty quill and parchment, and began researching for proper binding spells. After discarding the one used by that filthy toad Umbridge, as even the hint of that memory may cause unwanted shrinkage in Harry, her eyes alit upon the perfect possibility. Quill in hand, she began to scritch down her list.

1. Tie Harry to the bed. Ensure his supine form is face up, even if his bum is delicious. This should take thirty seconds or less.

Note to self: Look into strap-on for later. Buggering that bum will be delicious

2. Tweak his nipples. A properly teased nipple should arouse his curiosity. No more than five minutes should elapse.

3. Nibble on his nuggets. This will prove he can trust me, even with his crown jewels. Again, no more than five minutes should elapse, or he may think me a tease.

4. Snog him fiercely for another three and a half minutes. He should definitely think me a tease then. Don't forget to wank him a bit, twenty four wanks at most. Perhaps twenty six, if you feel adventurous.

5. Slurp his schlong. He is only sixteen after all, and properly clearing the tubing will keep him from lighting the fireworks with great brevity. After precisely one minute and forty seven seconds of slurping, hum God Save the Queen like a proper Brit.

6. Decide betwixt swallowing or gargling as is appropriate to help salve his ego.

7. Snog him again for six minutes and eighteen seconds. Allow him time to gasp out sweet nothings.

8. Come up with a suitable nick-name for his bits. Current candidates are: The Big Head, Harry's Happy Hippogryph, T-Bone, and Meatwad.

9. Rub your breasts in his face for twelve seconds, or as long as he likes if he begins to treat your nipples with the proper respect. Some improvisation is good, after all.

10. Once Harry's Happy Hippogryph (The winner of the name-his-bits competition) has reared again, shag him fast and hard. Scream as is appropriate, and orgasm at least twice. Four times if feeling frisky. on top of him, and fall asleep with him inside of you. Don't dispel the bindings unless he has to use the loo, otherwise he may get the wrong idea and run away. He can be very silly sometimes.

12. Upon waking up, use the morning-wood phenomenon to prove again how much of a man he is. Decide whether or not to attend breakfast based off of his ability to repeat item number ten.

Quite happy with her list, Hermione settled back and began practicing her silent Engorgio spell as a worst-case scenario. She knew quite well that this was, indeed, the last ditch measure, but completing item number ten ranked very high on her priorities. Still, she worried a bit, even after managing to inflate her pillow soundlessly for the fourth time. Her resolve remained as flaccid as Snape at a strip-club, and there didn't seem to be any hope of it rising to the challenge.

From the other bed, Hermione heard Pavarti's moan. "Oh, Harry, I don't care what Ginny thinks, you'll always a **great** wizard to me! Take me now!"

Resolve sufficiently steeled, Hermione quietly snuck out of her dorm, across the common room, and dashed up the stairs leading to the boy's dormitory.


	6. SPEHW?

A\N: Dunno, came across another one of those "Sirius made Harry a Lord Black and all of the sudden he got a bunch of sex-slave" fics. Hadn't seen this take on the whole thing, who knows where it'll go, if anywhere. 

S.P.E.H.W.?! 

* * *

Albus paced his office, fretting over the contents of Sirius's will. Snape sneer contemptuously, feeling it appropriate for the situation. "Severus, what can I do? I can't break the will, and the boy just doesn't have the maturity to handle the wealth and freedom that Sirius is granting him. Worse, the goblins have insisted quite firmly that if I don't bring Harry to the reading, they'll do so themselves."

Snape shrugged. "Albus, there's nothing you can do. I really don't know why you insist that the boy is so special."

"Severus, now is not the time for your silly feud with Harry," Albus scolded. "I must find a way to stop this."

Severus sighed. "If you are so insistent on running the boy's life, then why don't you horribly abuse your position as his guardian, and make him a slave to that know-it-all Granger girl. That way, at least you'll know he'll follow the rules and study for once in his pathetic life." Snape sneered condescendingly at the idea of Harry actually studying.

The Headmaster perked up. "Why Severus, that's brilliant! I'll draft up the contract right now?"

Snape stared dumbly Dumbledore. "Albus, I was only joking!"

Albus waved his hand in dismissal. "Perhaps you were, but it's the best idea yet!"

Snape barely restrained the undignified urge to slam his head into a wall. "This has got to be the worst decision in a long line of decisions, Albus."

"Oh, don't be such a pessimist. Why, it's for the greater good!" Albus twinkled merrily as he started looking through his archives for a properly drafted contract. "Ah, perfect! There's still one left. Hmm… a bit dated, but it should do."

Snape slunk out of the office, desperately needing a strong drink while Albus worked through the night using the samples of Harry's blood to enforce the magical contract.

* * *

Albus apparated to the Granger residence, dressed in his finest Muggle clothing. Unfortunately, the style he wore had gone out of date some time in the mid-eighteen hundreds. He merrily pressed the doorbell. He heard footsteps approaching, then watched as the door flung wide open.

Hermione stared at her Headmaster in surprise, then horror. "Headmaster, has something happened to Harry?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes twinkling merrily. "Oh no, nothing of the sort. It has to do with some property you've acquired up due to Sirius's will. If you will accompany me to Gringotts, we'll have this settled in no time."

Hermione nodded, quickly slipping on her shoes. Albus gently took her arm, and apparated the two to the Gringotts lobby. Inside the lobby, a goblin dressed in a rather strange outfit vaguely resembling a sultanate guard waved to the pair.

"Mr. Dumbledore, Ms. Granger, if you will follow me please?" He turned and walked down a long hallway. Hermione and Albus followed him, until the goblin stopped at an ornately carved ebony door. He opened the door, and gestured for the pair to enter the room. "Cragnocker will be by shortly with your property. It's been rather spirited, but Gragnocker is especially good with difficult packages. Ms. Granger, you will find a copy of the contract and an itemized account of your new properties on the table. They are spelled so that only you may read them." Hermione entered the room with Albus, glancing tentatively at her headmaster. The goblin bowed and closed the door. A sheet of parchment sat next to a huge leather-bound tome. Albus's eyebrows rose at the size of the book.

"Albus, what's going on?" Hermione asked Dumbledore in a worried voice.

Albus waved off her concerns, eyes twinkling. "No need to worry, you'll see soon enough. I'm sure that the goblin was merely exaggerating a bit for showmanship's sake."

A moment later, the door opened again, this time letting in a huge, fat goblin with a multitude of scars and a wicked grin on his face. In his hands he held a silver chain, which he tugged sharply once he'd entered the room. The chain was attached to a thick metal collar around Harry's neck, the only clothing he wore except for a tattered rag of a loincloth, and he staggered in, dragged by the chain. The door shut behind him. Harry started to look up, only to be cuffed hard by the goblin. "Eyes on the floor!"

Hermione inhaled sharply. "Headmaster! What's going on? Why is Harry chained?"

Dumbledore smiled in his grandfatherly way. "Now Ms. Granger, you must calm down. There's nothing wrong, this is the traditional way of presenting a new slave to its master."

Hermione started to calm down, until the meaning of Dumbledore's words struck. "WHAT?!"

"Now Ms. Granger, there's no need to raise your voice. This is all very legal. You see, Sirius didn't understand what was best for Harry, and was going to give him a great deal of money and freedom. Now, you know as well as I how irresponsible Harry can be, so in order to keep him safe, I used my authority as his magical guardian to place him in your care. It's for the greater good, you see. The contract is right there on the table, why don't you take a quick read over it."

Hermione's eyes widened so much you could see the whites all around. Jerkily, she grabbed the contract and started reading. Mutely, she gaped at the headmaster until 

she regained enough of her wits to speak. "Headmaster… I can't… this is terrible… you have to let him free…"

Albus shook his head sadly. "Oh, I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, if you don't accept the contract, the goblins will dismember him and feed his corpse to the dragons."

"What? How could you? Okay, fine, I'll accept it but I'm freeing him the instant he's mine!" Hermione shouted.

Albus shook his head. "No, you see the contract doesn't work that way. Harry's not a wizard any more, he'd just a piece of property. You can't free him any more than you could free your table, or favorite book."

Hermione choked, and read the contract again. "You… I can't believe… how…"

Albus chuckled at the look of horror on his student's face. He felt bad for Harry, really he did, but this was for the greater good. "Now that you understand what's going on, I really must insist that you accept Harry as your slave. It would be a shame to feed him to the dragons, you know."

Hermione gurgled. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?" She hissed quietly.

The goblin grunted a reply. "Well, the traditional way is to force your new slave to perform oral gratification on you. I'd suggest it, nothing forces the message home and this little runt's gonna be a pain to break. You sure you don't want me to just kill it now?" The goblin looked at her expectantly.

"No!" Hermione shouted, and then weakly said, "well, when in Rome… Harry, come here." Harry meekly walked towards here. She took the chain the goblin offered her, and then blinked a few times as everything settled into her mind. She looked up at the other occupants of the room. "OUT!" She yelled, pointing at the door.

Shrugging, the goblin opened the door and gestured for Albus to follow. The pair left the room, the goblin grumbling about missing a good will-breaking and Albus whistling a merry little tune.

Sighing, Hermione shimmied down her panties. "Kneel," she commanded in a shaky voice. Harry fell to his knees. Leaning back against the table for balance, Hermione placed on foot on his shoulder and pulled his face in. A few moments later her eyes bugged out again and she started to gurgle happily.

* * *

Three hours later, Hermione walked out of the room with a deeply contented smile on her face. She held Harry's chain in her hand, and Harry carried the tome in his arms, eyes firmly on the floor. Albus smiled beneficently down upon her. "Well, I'm glad that you've accepted everything so well. Now I must insist that you come with me to Number 4 Privet drive until it's time to return to Hogwarts."

Hermione stared at Dumbledore. "Excuse me? You want me to go live with the Dursleys?"

Albus nodded. "Oh, yes, it's very important that Harry lives with his relatives in order to preserve the protections his mother's sacrificed places on him. It's for the greater good, of course."

"Well, if it's for the greater good…" Hermione trailed off quietly.

Albus nodded happily. "I'm glad you understand."

Hermione nodded. "Oh, yes, I do understand. Come Harry, we're leaving now. Headmaster, I'm afraid I can't do that. You see, I rather like my house, so there really isn't much point in me moving out of my comfort zone just to keep a bit of unwanted property safe."

Dumbledore boggled at Hermione. "Ms. Granger, I insist-"

Hermione cut him off. "That's Lord Potter-Black, Headmaster, and you can insist all you like. Good day, Headmaster." With that, she and Harry vanished from Gringotts. Albus stared at the spot the pair formerly occupied, mouth flapping like a fish. The goblin sniggered at Dumbledore's stupefaction.

"Ahahahaha! Old man, you should know by now there are some bitches you don't give that kind of power!"


	7. Full Metal Hogwarts

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: Dunno where this came from. Probably paying homage to Rorschach's Blot et. al.

A/U Fifth year.

o.O

Percy Weasley stood outside the office of Cornelius Fudge, nervously awaiting the opportunity to give his report on the ongoing crusade against sub-standard cauldrons. He'd been informed that his family's support of the Headmaster of Hogwarts cast his own loyalty in question, and he desired nothing more than to prove his worth to the Minister. He could barely make out the conversation going on behind the closed door. He strained to understand Cornelius' aggravated mutterings.

"…damned Headmaster… ever since my secretary had her accident… was she doing with those kittens anyhow… must find a way… ruin that old coot's plans… raise an army against… Lord Thingy… can't admit he's back… have to do something… old coot's planning… to do with Harry Potter… Weasley's… have to put and end… find somebody else… in Umbridge's place…"

Struck by a sudden inspiration, Percy leapt to his feet and ran out of the waiting room, ignoring the secretary's stunned look. 'I'll save the Ministry and my family from Dumbledore's schemes,' he thought, 'or my name isn't Perky Weatherby… er… Percy Weasley!'

O.o

Percy dashed to the Auror wing of the Ministry of Magic, barely pausing to catch his breath. Finally, he'd reached his destination: The Office of Retired Trainers. Barelling through the door, he started paging through the files. "Sorry, emergency ministry business," he shot off to quiet any enquiries of the lone staff member. Finally, he found what he was looking for; the toughest, most grizzled, and absolute meanest Auror Trainer to ever grace the halls of the Ministry of Magic. 'Perfect!' Percy thought, 'Even if he is a damn Yank!'

o.O

Percy rushed into the Ministers office right in time to catch Cornelius leaving. "Minister," he cried out jubilantly, "I've found the solution to all of our problems!" He waved the personell folder in the air.

Cornelius Fudge stared at the over-excited underling, trying to figure out exactly what the boy was on about. "I'm sorry, which problems?" He asked.

Percy blushed. "Oh, right, sorry sir. I overheard a few things, and I've found the perfect replacement for Madame Umbridge. This man's certain to ruin every single on of the old coot's plans." Percy winked at Fudge conspiratorially.

Fudge pondered his options. If the boy was telling the truth, then his prayers were answered, and if not… well, the blame would fall squarely on the lad's shoulders, and even then it could be easily explained away by youthful enthusiasm. He decided to give the kid a shot. After all, Barty'd done the same for him when he was wet behind the ears, and look at him now! "Alright, why don't we step into my office for a quick chat." Cornelius motioned for Percy to follow him back into his office.

o.O

Cornelius was amazed. The choice was brilliant, and had so many levels of plausible deniability that it was sure to work! Why, if he wasn't so good at delegating authority, he'd wish he'd thought of it himself.

"Perky, my boy, you've done it! He's perfect! Even that doddering old coot won't be able to brow-beat him!" He paused, and put on his best 'proud grandfather' face. "Now, I'm going to place a great deal of trust in you. You've already shown me where your true loyalties lie, and I'm going to reward that. From now on, you'll be the primary go-between the Ministry and our new High Inquisitor of Hogwarts. You've got the full support of my office on this, so I'll give you the authority to approve whatever decrees that the man wants." Fudge lowered his voice and put on his 'conspiratorial brother' face. "Remember, we don't want the old coot to get wind that we're on to him until we've got him in a spot he can't wiggle out of, so keep that part down to a need-to-know… preferably you, me, and the new Inquisitor." Cornelius assumed the 'proud grandfather' again. "I know I've left this in capable hands! I know you'll make me even prouder of you! You've got a bright future in the Ministry, Perky, and I'm happy that I can help you achieve it!"

Percy practically orgasmed from the praise. He stuttered out his thanks, and rushed off to fulfill the plans.

O.o

The students were gathered in the Great Hall, eagerly awaiting Dumbledore's quick speech so they could gorge themselves on another fine dinner. An undercurrent of anticipation filled the room, as students wonder who'd be the new DADA professor. So far, nobody new was at the Head Table. Dumbledore stood, eyes twinkling as he took in the assembled students.

"Another year, another wonderful sorting. Before we begin, I have a few announcements. First, the Forbidden Forest is open for exploration by all students. Anybody who wishes to explore the Forbidden Forest, please report to our Caretaker, Mr. Filch. I'm sure he'll be glad to give you a few pointers on how to not suffer a horrible and painful death at the hands of whatever beasties find you first. Next, Mr. Filch wants you to remember that there is no magic allowed in the hallways, and a list of banned items can be found posted on his office door. If you have any ideas for items that he might have missed, please inform Mr. Filch before bringing them to Hogwarts. Now, it appears that…"

Dumbledore's words were cut off by the noise of the Great Hall doors slamming open. In marched a grizzled old man in a strange uniform. The top was some sort of muggle military type jacket with strange patches on the arms, the pants were loose fatigues and he wore black boots spit-polished to a reflective shine. The man's face was as stern as it was grizzled, and he had close-cropped grey hair under his odd muggle cap. He marched right up to the podium and stared at Dumbledore. Dumbledore stared back, bemused. The man coughed politely. Dumbledore twinkled his eyes. The man coughed again. Dumbledore twinkled again.

"MOVE!" The odd man bellowed. Dumbledore took an unconscious step back. The man stepped forward to the vacated podium. He smiled happily at Dumbledore. "Thank you," he said, ignoring the Headmaster's shocked expression. As the old man took in the staring students, the smile vanished and was replaced by a stern expression that rivaled Professor McGonagall's most constipated. The hall remained silent.

"Alright you snot-nosed little pukes, in case you haven't noticed some people are saying that the big bad nasty Lord Thingy has come back. Now it appears that while the Ministry Intelligence does not believe that the rumors are correct; however, the Ministry has seen fit to appoint a High Inquisitor in order to ensure that in the event that some crazed whacko," he glared pointedly at Dumbledore, "does take a shot at overthrowing the Ministry some of you might actually know enough to help protect them."

A general murmer arose as the students reacted to his actions.

"SILENCE!" The hall instantly quieted. "Evidently the reports are correct, you all have a complete lack of discipline! Now listen to me very carefully. For those of you fortunate enough to be in your fourth year or below, I will be your DADA instructor. You will work hard, and you will attend classes like you always have. A few changes: I will not tolerate slack-jawed slugs in this school, and as such there are a few physical fitness standards that you will meet." He glared at the younger students. "Trust me, you will meet these standards whether you want to or not."

He waited for a second, to see if anybody was stupid enough to interrupt him. He nodded in grim approval at the silence. "Good, you animals can be trained. Now, for those of you in your last three years," the man gave an evil chuckle, "things are going to be a bit… different. I've been appointed to whip your sorry behinds into shape and by Merlin that's what I'm going to do! Enjoy your soft beds tonight, you sorry sacks of shite, because tomorrow you're going to be in for a little surprise!" He paused for a second, as if remembering something. "Oh, yes, I forgot to introduce myself," he said congenially. "Until you've earned the right otherwise, my name is SIR!" He glared at the students before continuing, "but in case you get a little confused while talking to your fellow apes, call me Gunny." He nodded, turned, and marched to the vacant seat at the Head Table.

Dumbledore staggered back to the podium. "Well, um… Gunny… thank you for your uplifting speech. I'm sure everybody is looking forward to another year of learning. Tuck in!"

The Great Hall erupted in shocked discussions as the students tore into their feast. "Bloody HELL!" Ron spouted once he gathered his wits. Harry looked at the wide-eyed expressions on his friends faces, absolutely certain that he looked as stunned as they.

"Well, Forge, I think that this is going," Fred said.

"To be a most interesting year." George completed.

o.O

Gunny glared at the miserable lot of children that made up the fifth year class at Hogwarts. As ordered, they'd stayed in the Great Hall after breakfast, muttering amongst themselves nervously. He flashed back to the conversation he'd had with the pencil pushing red-headed Ministry stooge.

/flash-back/

"You're telling me that you want me to do WHAT?" Gunny bellowed at the spineless goober.

Percy tried, and failed, to act superior. "That's right. The Minister is concerned that the current Headmaster of Hogwarts is scheming in ways that are harmful to both the Ministry and the students of Hogwarts, and as such needs you to foil his any and all of his schemes."

"So you are telling me that the Grand High Mugwump himself is mucking about with something as trivial as…"

"Yes, that's exactly it, and it's your job to stop him." Percy looked a bit ashamed. "Look, this is my family he's playing puppet-master with. Mum's all for it, but…"

Gunny put a re-assuring hand on the boy's shoulder. It was obvious that he meant well, even if he was a cowardly stooge. "It's all right boy, I understand. Family is important."

Percy smiled, relieved that the new Inquisitor understood.

/end flash-back/

He stood up. "SILENCE!" The hall fell silent. "Now, by Educational Decree 10-1, I have the authority to make a few changes around here. From now on, you are only members of a House for Quiddich and points purposes. Instead of the old dorm system, I am implementing a 'Buddy' system. Once you are assigned a buddy, you will spend every moment together. You will eat, sleep, shite and bath with your buddy. You will share grades, rewards and punishments. I don't care if you were in different Houses, if you didn't know the person, Hell if you hated them before now, once you are assigned a Buddy you WILL get along and you WILL watch each other's back!"

The hall erupted in shouts of dismay. "SILENCE!" The hall fell silent. "Good. Now, in order to ensure that you have the best possible Buddy, I've enlisted a little help." Gunny pulled the Sorting Hat out of a box and put it on a stool. "When I call your name, you will sit up here and wear this hat. When it's done, take it off and place it back on the stool and return to your seat. If it calls out a name, you and your new Buddy will sit together at the back table." Gunny pulled out a scroll of names and began calling them out.

Harry looked around nervously, wondering who he'd be partnered with. He could tell that Ron and Hermione were also worried. Ron jumped when his name was called out first. He made his way to the stool, put on the hat, then after a few seconds took it off and returned to his seat. A few more names were called, and then Hermione's turn came. She stood up and nervously made her way to the stool. A couple seconds later she took off the hat and returned to her friends. After about a dozen names had been called, Gunny called out "Parvati Patil!"

She slunk forward and put on the hat.

"Lavender Brown!" The hat shouted. Parvati squealed with happiness and joined her friend at the back table.

"Draco Malfoy!" Draco sauntered up to the hat, sneering. He pompously placed the hat over his golden locks.

"Ronald Weasley!" The hat shouted. Draco tore the hat from his head. "You've got to be bloody kidding me! There is no way that my Buddy is a filthy weasel!"

"Bugger off, Ferret," Ron shouted back, "there's no way I'm living with you all year either!"

"SILENCE!" Gunny shouted. "You WILL partner up with him and you WILL like it!" He glared at Draco, who quailed under his stern gaze. Morosely, he made his way to the back table. "Come on Wea… Ronald… looks like we're stuck."

"Shite," Ron spat as he made his way towards Draco.

By this point, Hermione started to hyperventilate. Harry tried to give her a reassuring look, but failed miserably. Name after name was called, some Buddy's obvious, some unexpected, but none as shocking as Ron and Draco. One by one, the students were called until only Harry and Hermione remained without a partner.

"Well what do you know?" Gunny asked rhetorically. "I suppose this is rather pointless, but Harry Potter!"

Harry walked numbly to the stool. He sat down, placing the hat on his head.

'Yup, I thought so,' the hat said telepathically, before shouting "Hermione Granger!"

Harry took off the hat and joined a rather frantic looking Hermione at the back table.

"No. Absolutely not," Hermione dithered softly to herself. "I mean, what will my parents say? There's no other boy-girl Buddies, why us?" Harry shrugged, the full impact of what happened having not sunk in.

"Now listen up! I've taken the liberty of canceling your classes for the rest of the day while we draw up your shared schedules. You will spend today getting acclimated to the Buddy system. You will spend every moment no more than three feet away from your Buddy! You will eat, shite, study, bathe, breathe and sleep with your buddy! You will learn everything about your buddy, and your buddy will do the same! I've taken the liberty of placing monitoring charms on each and every one of you, so I'll be watching for any slip-ups." He grinned evilly at the students. "Trust me when I say that no matter how much you hate your Buddy, or how much you hate the company, you'll learn to hate me more if you don't comply. DISMISSED!"

Draco spat and stalked off before Ron could react. When he got five steps away from Ron, Gunny pointed his wand at Draco. "_SIT_"

Draco sat.

"I suppose we have a pair of volunteers to show you exactly what happens if you don't listen to me. Weasley, Draco, front and center," Gunny ordered. Nervously Ron and Draco approached the front of the room. With a wave of his wand, Gunny wordlessly conjured a pile of large white rocks as tall as Ron and as wide as Goyle. He glared at the pair. "I don't like where this stack of rocks is. Move them to the other side of the room. Oh, and before I forget, give me your wands." Wide eyed, Ron and Draco complied. "Oh, and every time one of you boys fucks up, I'm going to add more rocks. Now MOVE!"

Cursing under their breath, Ron and Draco began lifting rocks in tandem and moving them to the other side of the hall. "FASTER YOU LAZY MAGGOTS!" Gunny ordered. They tried to run while carrying the rock, but only managed to drop it. The pile doubled in size. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU CALL THAT? I'VE SEEN BETTER COORDINATION BETWEEN TWO DRUNK FAIRIES DRY-HUMPING EACH OTHER!" Grunting, they picked up the rock and tried to coordinate their movements.

Gunny glared at the other students. "Are you going to sit there all day? When I dismiss you, you are dismissed. That is, unless you want to join these two inbred cock-warts!"

Suddenly, every pair except for Harry and Hermione stood up, and after a quick thought, linked arms to ensure that they'd keep the required closeness. Harry stood, lightly grabbing Hermione's arm in an effort to drag her out of her shock. She blinked a few times, then bolted out of her seat. Only Harry's seeker reflexes prevented him from falling behind as she tore towards Gunny in a rampage.

Gunny looked bemused down at her flushed and furious face. "Do you have a problem, Granger?" He asked quietly. Harry gulped.

"YES!" Hermione screeched. "I HAVE A PROBLEM!"

"You have a problem, what?" Gunny asked, dangerously.

Hermione sputtered. "Sir!" Harry coughed quietly, having seen this conversation before in an old movie he'd spotted on the telly at the Dursleys.

Hermione growled. "SIR, I HAVE A BLOODY PROBLEM, SIR!" She shouted. Harry wondered if she'd seen the same movie. He hoped not. He didn't want to consider the possibility that she wanted the pain that inevitably followed somebody yelling and cussing like that.

Gunny smiled. Harry swallowed. 'Oh we're so fucked,' he thought, trying to telepathically tell Hermione to calm down.

"Well, what is your problem?" Gunny asked, perfectly calm. Harry knew that calm. It was a bad calm. People died from that calm.

"SIR, HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO SPEND EVERY SINGLE MOMENT IN HIS COMPANY, SIR!" Hermione screamed, oblivious to the horrific danger that was the calm.

"Are you saying that Potter here isn't good enough for you?" Gunny asked, still calm.

"SIR, NO, SIR!"

"Then what, exactly, is the problem?"

"SIR, IT'S HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE, SIR!" Hermione screeched back.

"Oh? So you think it's inappropriate, do you?" Gunny asked, smiling. Harry started to wonder if maybe Sirius wanted some company.

"SIR, I DO, SIR!" Hermione replied.

Gunny turned and calmly considered Harry. Harry started to sweat under the weight of all that calm. "So, Potter, I'll just go ahead and assume that you also think it's inappropriate?"

Harry gulped. He weighed one horrible choice against another. Deciding that he'd rather face the unknown than Hermione's creativity he weakly answered, "Sir, I do, sir."

"Well then, by the power invested in me by the Ministry of Magic I declare you husband and wife," Gunny said jovially, "So now it's appropriate." His smile vanished. "DISMISSED!"

Terrified at what else could possibly happen, Harry dragged Hermione's shocked form out of the room.

"Draco?" Ron asked his partner as they hauled another rock across the hall, "I think we got off easy."

Mutely, horrified, Draco nodded.

o.O

Ron and Draco grunted as they carried another rock across the hall. Just as they placed it onto the stack, Minerva stormed into the great hall. Silently, they agreed to watch the show.

"Gunny! Miss. Granger and Mr. Potter just informed me that you allowed the two of them to be paired together in your absurd little scheme! Is this true?" She glared at him sternly, her Scottish brogue slipping into her voice.

Gunny smiled and nodded. "Yes ma'am, I did."

"They also informed me of your response to Miss. Granger's objections. Is this also true?"

"Yes ma'am, it is."

McGonagall stalked up to Gunny. Ron and Draco strained to make out her quiet words. "Are you a married man, Gunny?" She asked dangerously.

Gunny shook his head. "Wife died in '73, God rest her soul."

Minerva swept Gunny up in a fierce hug and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips. Ron and Draco nearly dropped the rock they carried in disgust. "Well, Gunny, you just won me the pool. I expect that you will escort me to Hogsmeade this weekend. Dress nicely, and show me a good time." She released him and primly walked out of the hall, whistling happily.

Gunny blinked. "Hot DAMN!" He turned and glared at the gagging students. "What are you pukes doing? DID I SAY YOU COULD STOP! PUKE WHILE MOVING YOU LITTLE SACKS OF SHITE!"

Draco and Ron followed his orders to the letter.

o.O

A\N: Man, I feel ashamed of myself.


	8. SPEHW? Behind Closed Doors

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: I'm really REALLY sorry about Big Red Button.

Anyhow, since I'm feeling guilty about both Big Red Button, and leaving SPEHW so nastily anti-Hermione, I figured I'd go ahead and fill in the missing portions.

By the way, credit goes to SomeGuyFawkes for "why the goblins did what they did" in SPEHW. It just fits so well, I had too.

o.O

Hermione gurgled happily as she climaxed for the third time in a row. Harry continued to happily munch on her muff, but Hermione found herself so over stimulated that every slurp made her want to scream, and not in the good way. With a distinct 'pop' she pulled herself away from Harry's ministrations. Harry looked up at her, vaguely pouting. She took a moment to regain voluntary motor control.

"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry… I shouldn't have forced you into that but I didn't want you to get chopped up and fed to the dragons and..." She stammered, overwhelmed with guilt.

"Er… um, really, it's not that bad," Harry quickly interrupted.

"But… I mean I forced it on you and…"

Harry shook his head. "Look, um, Hermione, really don't worry. I mean, really, that was brilliant." He gave her a great big (slimy) smile. Hermione blushed and wiped off his mouth with her cloak. "Thank you. I mean maybe it's different for girls but when a blokes got that kind of opportunity, I mean, it's absolutely amazing feeling you nibbling on my chin."

"HARRY!" Hermione shouted, blushing all the way down to her toes.

Harry shrugged. "So, anyhow, um, about the whole slave thing… Look, I know that you pretty much go ahead and do whatever Dumbledore tells you to but I'd really like it if, you know, maybe you didn't…"

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "Harry I'm so sorry. I always thought I could trust the Headmaster because I thought he knew best but now I know he's just an evil horrible man, as bad as Voldemort!"

Harry grinned. "Oh. Well okay then." He looked down at his feet. "Still, that doesn't change the fact that I'm pretty much buggered."

"Harry, language!" Hermione instinctively chastised, then 'meeped' a little. "Oh Harry I'm sorry I shouldn't command you to do anything, you don't have to listen to me…"

Harry snorted. "Never thought I'd hear those words from your lips, Hermione." He stuck his tongue out at her indignant snort.

"Honestly Harry, I'm not that bad!" Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes. Harry merely cocked an eyebrow at her. Hermione flushed. "Okay, fine, maybe I can be a little bossy, but it's for your own good!" Harry kept his eyebrow cocked. Hermione blushed brighter. "Right, sorry, no more telling you what to do for your own good…" Hermione mumbled.

Harry nodded. "Thank you. So, um, what are we going to do about…"

Hermione sighed. "Maybe there's something in the Black Family properties, because this stupid contract is air-tight. What was that bastard thinking?" Hermione opened up the voluminous tome. She skimmed through the summary, and started paging though the index when a brilliant smile flashed across her lips. "I've got it!" She grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him over. Harry read the passage under Hermione's pointing finger.

To summon ye Black Family Solicitor, the Head of Ye Moste Ancient and Noble House must simply intone the name of ye Moste Ancient Solicitor of Them All: Louis Cypher.

Hermione glanced over at Harry. "Well, here goes nothing. Louis Cypher!"

The smell of brimstone accompanied the sounds of chains and quills scribbling upon parchment. In a burst of green flame, a red-skinned man dressed in a fine black suit appeared clutching a briefcase.

"The Lord Potter-Black requests my services?" Mr. Cypher said in a voice laden with forbidden promises and swallowed lies.

Hermione blinked. "Um… y-yes w-w-we need t-t-to d-do," she stammered, and then swallowed to steady her voice. "I need your services. There is the matter of a contract that I wish to negate."

Louis Cypher cocked an eyebrow. "Do you now? Are you so certain, that in the deepest pits of your soul, you don't thrill at the ownership of another soul? Especially one so dear to you?"

Hermione shook her head. "N-No! It's horrible and wrong!"

Mr. Cypher pouted. "Pity, you show so much promise, for one so young. Ah well, the years favor me." He held out his hand. "Let me read the contract."

Hermione handed the parchment over to the red-skinned man. Harry and Hermione nervously waited while Louis Cypher read over the contract, making the occasional interested noises. Finally, the lawyer looked up, and smiled wickedly. "This contract is unbreakable, impeccable, and frankly if I had a heart it would be warmed. I'm delighted to know that such absolute corruption still exists, even in the heart of the Light."

Hermione slumped, her hopes dashed. "So Harry's stuck as a slave?" She asked, fighting back tears.

"No," Mr. Cypher answered flatly.

Hermione's head snapped up. "Then how can I free him?" She asked, hope growing.

"You can't." The lawyer replied in a bored voice.

"But… you said that Harry wasn't stuck…" Hermione stammered, crestfallen. Harry put his hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

Louis smiled slightly, seeming to breathe in her misery. Harry glared at the lawyer. Mr. Cypher picked up on Harry's indignation, and sighed dejectedly. "Oh very well," he said regretfully, "I suppose I must inform you that you cannot free Harry because he was never enslaved in the first place."

Hermione's head snapped up so fast her neck popped. "What?" She exclaimed. "What do you mean by that?"

Mr. Cypher shrugged, tossing the parchment back on the table. "Mr. Dumbledore did not have the right, or ability, to transfer ownership of Harry from Harry to you. I suppose he didn't know that the former Head of the Family set up the original copy of the will to emancipate Harry, and transfer all ownership of properties and such immediately upon the Head's death." Louis Cypher said flatly. "A last prank, if you will."

Harry blinked. "So, um, I'm not a slave, and Hermione doesn't own everything I own, and this whole thing was one big farce?" Louis nodded, looking singularly unimpressed by it all. "Then why did the goblin kidnap me and start lecturing me on my duties as a slave and all that?" Harry asked, quite pissed.

Louis smiled at Harry's wrathful tones. "My best guess would be that Cragnocker thought he was fulfilling one of Sirius' last requests, specifically the 'damn it pup, you need to get laid' clause in section 23-c. He and Sirius had a time when they roamed the BDSM circuit, posing as Arab Slavers and running Flesh Auctions."

Harry sputtered, shocked, horrified and yet oddly aroused. "But… what about all the 'will breaking' stuff?"

Mr. Cypher smiled wickedly, licking his lips with a forked tongue. "Lord Potter-Black, do you really think 'slave training' involves stripping off your clothes and instructing you in the best ways to _please_ a woman?" Louis chuckled evilly at the blushes that passed over both Harry and Hermione's faces.

Hermione shook her head. "Then, um… if I'm not Lord Potter-Black how could I summon you?"

Louis looked bored. "Oh, that," he deadpanned. "Most likely, the Lord Potter-Black swore his eternal love and devotion to you while pressed against your muff." Harry's mortified gurgle and Weasley-red face confirmed the lawyer's hypothesis. "You'd be amazed how often that happened in the Black family. They set up a sort of informal betrothal process. Nothing _binding_," he said the word 'binding' in a wickedly sultry way, "but enough to temporarily allow the mistress some shared privileges."

Hermione blushed as red as Harry. "Right, well, um, I guess that's all?"

Louis Cypher shook his head. "Actually, while I'm here, I need to inform the Lord Potter-Black that he is illegally in possession of two objects that rightfully belong to me." He said the words with an air of dangerous finality.

Harry looked at the lawyer, puzzled. "Um, what, how, I mean, I don't think I ever took anything. I mean, where are they and how do I give them back and if I didn't know about it and will I be punished?"

Mr. Cypher smiled like a thestral feasting upon a corpse. "Lord Potter-Black, I'm looking at one of the items now."

Harry blinked, and then gasped in horror as he realized that the lawyer was staring straight at him. "But I thought I wasn't a slave… how can I be the property…"

Mr. Cypher laughed wickedly. "I do so _adore_ you two, so very easily to manipulate your emotions for my amusement. No, Lord Potter-Black, the property that you hold is here." He reached out and tapped Harry's forehead with one long red finger. Harry felt the sharp black nail touch his scar.

"My… scar?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

Louis Cypher nodded. "Not quite. Inside of your scar lay one fragment of the soul of Thomas Marvolo Riddle, a soul that is without redemption or merit. It's nearly fifteen years overdue, and I would claim it now."

Harry and Hermione quailed, sickened at the thought that a bit of Voldemort lingered in his scar. Hermione shook her head, mumbling, "That would explain the connection."

"Well, what's going to happen to me if I give you it back? And how will you take it back?" Harry asked cautiously.

Louis smiled. "If you return the stolen property without great delay, there are no penalties for you actions, as you were an unknowing host. As for how you will return the property? Simply allow me to withdraw it from you, and there will be no adverse side effects. I have eons of experience with soul-based transactions, and I am most subtle and skilled at their retrieval."

Harry looked at Hermione, wondering what her opinion was. She shrugged, leaving it up to him. Gather his resolve; Harry looked back at his lawyer. "Do it."

Gently, Louis Cypher reached out with his thumb and for-finger, and gently pinched the scar. Then he withdrew his hand, something black and slimy caught between them. A rush of power and relief flooded over Harry, almost causing him to faint. For a few moments, his eyes glowed green with unchained promise, then faded back to normal.

A horribly wailing filled the room as Mr. Cypher opened his briefcase and deposited the black and slimy thing inside. He closed the briefcase, and the noise vanished. "It is done." Louis intoned solemnly.

Harry blinked a few times, trying to clear his mind. He felt better than he had in years, and it felt as if he was bursting with energy. "I thought you said there wouldn't be any side effects?" Harry asked his lawyer.

Louis shrugged. "Lord Potter-Black, I specifically stated there would be no adverse side-effects. That soul was a tape-worm to your magic, and its removal should come as a great relief. From what I saw, it was most unpleasantly damning, I mean damming," he corrected with a chuckle, "your potential."

"Right… well, um, so what about that other bit?" Harry asked, still wary.

"Ah, yes. In the Vault of one Bellatrix LeStrange ne Black, there is a cup that serves as the vessel for another piece of my property. Seeing as she is under your House, you may allow me to gather back my stolen properties at will." Louis looked at Harry expectantly.

"Yeah, sure, go for it," Harry answered.

Louis smiled. "Excellent. Is there anything else then, Lord Potter-Black?" Mr. Cypher asked, his silken tones laden with temptation and promises.

Harry shivered. "Um… no."

Hermione cut him off. "Wait! Wait! What can you do about that worthless bastard? I mean, surely there's something illegal about trying to sell of property that isn't yours, or enslave or Head of House, or something?" She asked, half infuriated and half desperate.

Mr. Cypher smiled. "So the Lord Potter-Black pro tem desires I bring a civil and legal suit against one Albus Percival Wulfic Brian Dumbledore?"

Hermione nodded. "Give him **Hell**," she said flatly.

The Black Family solicitor threw back his head, his horrific laughter echoing throughout Gringotts. Dragons whimpered, wizards shat themselves, and goblins smiled great big predatory smiles. "My dear girl, _that_ is my _specialty_." With a wink, the lawyer vanished leaving behind the faintest hint of sulfur.

Harry shook his head. "Right, well, since I'm not a slave I guess I should take off this collar."

Hermione looked at Harry with big brown puppy-dog eyes. "Um… actually…" She blushed, "I wouldn't mind if, well, you wore it for a bit longer… I mean…"

Harry's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He gaped like a drowning man handed a glass of water for a moment, before he closed his mouth and started chuckling. "Oh man, I should have known," he mumbled, shaking his head.

Hermione blushed, but gave him a predatory stare while licking her lips.

Harry swallowed, pulse quickening. He took a moment to work his tongue around his suddenly dry mouth. "Heh, um… only if you wear it next time," he asked attempting to act calmer than he felt.

Hermione's predatory smile widened. "It's a deal." Then she pounced.

o.O

A couple very busy hours later, the pair flopped bonelessly down in their chairs. Harry glanced over at Hermione. "So, any idea how we're going to deal with Tall, Bright and Brainless?"

Hermione shook her head. "Oh Harry, if he thinks that you aren't a slave I'm terrified at what he'll try next. I mean, he's already sunk so low…" She worried her bottom lip.

Harry smiled, channeling his former godfather. "Then lets give him what he wants, until you can portkey us out of here. I'm pretty sure that Cragnocker will play along, especially considering what we found out…"

Hermione nodded. "That's brilliant," she said, too tired to hug her friend. "I think I might need a bit more recovery time, though."

Harry nodded.

"And I need to send that goblin a thank you note," she said mischievously.

Harry nodded.

O.o

Cragnocker let his eyes wander over the pair. Internally, he shook his head in awe. Man, Sirius really managed to get a true professional for his godson,' the goblin mused, 'I mean I've seen a lot of dominatrix come and go, but I've never seen "innocent waif who turns into wicked mistress" done so well. Well, the "innocent waif" bit at least. She's got a bit to go perfecting the wicked mistress routine. Still, never let it be said that Sirius doesn't take care of his family! Oh, there they go, time to deliver my line. Wow, if I didn't know any better I'd think the old man actually thought the whole thing was real…'


	9. Full Metal Hogwarts: Snippets

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: Wow… people actually want to see this one continued. Here's a smattering of snippets that will make their way into a more cohesive whole later. Yeah, this is gonna be its own story now. Thank you David Brown for the inspiration for the meeting between Dumbledore and Gunny.

o.O

Sitting in his office and smoking a cigar after dinner, Gunny grinned as he remembered his first introduction with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He felt confident that he'd succeeded in making the desired impression on the old coot.

/_flash-back_/

Gunny marched into the Headmaster's office. The gargoyles had presented a slight challenge, but he wasn't a USWMC DI for nothing. Gunny flung open the door, catching the old coot by surprise. Gunny glared down at the elderly man.

"Listen up you miserable sack of shite! My name is Gunny, but you will refer to me as SIR! I've been appointed the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts by the Ministry of Magic and by God and Merlin I will whip this sorry excuse for a learning institution into shape! Well, what is your name boy?"

Dumbledore blinked, bemused that a man who looked no more than sixty called him 'boy'. Eyes twinkling, Albus stood and imperiously intoned, "Albus Percival Wulfic…"

"Shut up, maggot!" Gunny barked, cutting the Headmaster off. "I don't want a novel from you! Where are you from?"

"Godric's Hollow," Dumbledore answered.

Gunny glared at the old coot. "There are only two things from Godric's Hollow: Potters and Queers, and I don't see no scar! You look like the kind of man that'd fuck a guy in the ass and not even have the God damned common courtesy to give a reach around! I'm keeping my eye on you, boy!"

/_end flash-back_/

o.O

Severus Snape walked into the office of the new DADA and High Inquisitor. Gunny nodded, acknowledging his presence, and motioned for the potions instructor to take a seat. Snape calmly strode over to the comfortable leather chair and sat, carefully keeping a neutral expression. After a few minutes, Gunny finished writing on the parchment in front of him and looked up at Severus.

"Well? Are you here to bitch about the schedule too?" Gunny asked.

Severus shook his head. "No. I do have a few questions, though."

Gunny nodded. "Well that's a God damn relief. Fire away." Snape looked at him oddly. Gunny shook his head in disgust. "It means ask me your questions you unwashed douche."

Snape carefully hid his irritation. "Very well. I've noted that you have decided to remove my OWL and NEWT level potions classes, and in return you've scheduled me in as the DADA professor for the first through fourth years."

"That's correct," Gunny replied.

"Why?" Snape asked bluntly.

Gunny smiled. "After reading through the personnel and hiring files, I've found out that for every single one of the last ten years you've applied for the DADA professorship. Now, considering how much of an absolute bug-fuck that position's become, I can't find one God-damned good reason why you **haven't** gotten the position. Your qualifications are impeccable. Invented one of the nastiest mother-fucking dark spells in your sixth year, derived off the God-damned tickling curse to boot." Gunny barked out in appreciative laughter. "Spent three years as a Death Eater, yet you aren't in Azkaban. You have an irrational hatred for fluffy puppies, sunshine, innocence and children along with a fine appreciation for the motivational power of terror. Quite frankly, you're the best mother fucking applicant in a stack of incompetent half-wits and shit-packing girly-men!" Snape raised an eyebrow at the dubious 'compliment.' Gunny continued. "So why in God's name weren't you given the position?" Gunny asked, staring pointedly at Snape.

"I honestly don't know," Snape drawled.

"Exactly, and neither do I. Seeing as it's my job to fix this back-ass butt-fuck of a school, I've made a few personnel decisions that I think best suit the students. Any more questions?"

Snape nodded. "Why did you remove me from teaching the higher level potions courses?"

"Two reasons. First, from all of my interviews, you can't teach potions worth a damn. You may be good at making them, but your instruction sucks worse than a glitter-covered Hoover at a fairy convention! I suspect that's because you hate incompetence in your chosen field for more than any ration man has a right too, and I'm willing to back up my hunch." Gunny paused, waiting for Snape's reaction. Snape looked thoughtful, and then nodded his agreement. "I'm glad you agree. Makes my life a little easier. Second, I've noted that you absolutely positively cannot stand being in the same room as Mr. Potter. Is this correct?"

Snape sneered and nodded his agreement.

"Now I personally have no interest in why you hate the boy, nor do I want to hear a God damn word about him." Gunny waved off Snape's comments. "Seeing as how your mutual antipathy is well noted by the staff and students, why in God's name has the Headmaster seen fit to force you two together?"

Snape sneered. "Maybe he thinks that we'll learn to like each other."

Gunny spat, "BULLSHIT! Frankly, I don't know what Albus was thinking and I don't give three-quarters of a shit either. While I'm here, you two will have abso-fucking-lutely nothing to do with each other, and if I can help it you will not even see each other's face any place but during meals. Now, as far as your teaching goes, you seem to have forgotten the golden rule of a good DI: Hate every last mother fucker equally! I know you have the same contempt for the little shits in Slytherin as you do every other child, and from now on you are going to act like it! Do you have a problem with that?"

Snape felt the strangest sensation at the corners of his lips. He vaguely remembered it from his early childhood, but couldn't place it. Unconsciously, he touched the corner of his mouth, and found the tips of his lips elevated from their normal position. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. He'd have to research the phenomena later. "No. Not in the least. And if the Headmaster sees fit to order me to talk with or tutor the brat?"

Gunny shook his head. "Then you tell me, and I'll personally set up an alternative. Tell Albus whatever the Hell you want, I don't care, but you will not waste your time or Potter's. Anything else?"

Snape shook his head.

Gunny nodded. "Good. Now I've got a question myself. Why the HELL haven't you bathed in the last year? I can smell your filthy ass from a mile away!"

Snape grumbled out an answer.

"I didn't hear you!" Gunny shouted.

Snape scowled. "A prank. Sixth year. James Potter." He spat.

"And you still can't touch a bar of soap?" Gunny asked.

Snape shook his head.

"Well I'll be damned. Ain't that something. Very well, DISMISSED!"

Scowling, Snape stood to leave the office. Pausing at the doorway, he turned his head and asked one final question. "So, did you _really_ marry the Potter brat and his know-it-all tagalong?"

Gunny barked out in laughter. "Of course not! What kind of cold-hearted sadistic bastard do you think I am?"

Snape felt that curious upward tugging on his lips again. "The kind who will call Miss Granger Mrs. Potter for the rest of the term." He left the office, cloak billowing majestically behind him.

Gunny's laughter followed him down the hall. "You're a greasy son of a bitch, Snape, but I like your sense of humor!"

o.O

"Yeh wanted teh see me, sir?" Hagrid asked nervously.

"Rubeous Hagrid! On top of your teaching duties, you are now in charge of our K-9 unit!" Gunny barked.

Hagrid nodded happily. "Okers, I kin' do that."

Gunny smiled. "Good! I've already arraigned for the delivery of a pack of untamed Peruvian Hellhounds. Now, they are a might frisky, but I'm sure you can handle it!" Gunny started to become concerned when he noticed Hagrid's lip trembling and eyes watering. 'God damn, don't tell me he's a big pussy!' Gunny thought, worriedly.

"I LOVE YOU SARGE!" Hagrid bellowed as he enveloped Gunny in a spine-shattering hug.

"GOD DAMNIT YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!" Hagrid dropped Gunny from the embrace. Gunny carefully checked each rib to make sure nothing was broken. "Right, well then, carry on." Gunny muttered, a bit worried about the sanity of his newest friend. He worried a whole hell of a lot more when Hagrid skipped happily back to his cabin. "That just ain't right," Gunny muttered to himself.

O.o

Harry and Hermione walked to their next class, Double Potions. Harry slumped dejectedly next to Hermione in the front row, dreading the next two hours spent with his least-favorite greasy git. His mood perked up immeasurably when Gunny walked into the classroom instead of Snape.

"Now listen here! It has come to my attention that not a God-damned one of you knows a God-damned thing about how brewing ACTUALLY works! I have taken it upon myself to correct four years of ass-backwards incompetent teaching and by GOD you WILL LEARN! Now, lets see if any of you possesses the slightest glimmer of understanding! Suppose you are making a basic boil-reduction potion, and you find yourself out of porcupine quills. Tell me one of the two basic ingredients that you can substitute, and what you need to change to do so!"

Gunny glared around the room, disgusted that only one hand was up. He felt a little more disgusted that the chair-bouncing 'me me me!' attitude of the waver. 'God damn, does that girl WANT her classmates mocking her?' He mused. Noting the black looks on her classmate's faces, he decided to call on her. He grinned internally remembering Snape's parting advice.

"Potter!" He bellowed.

Harry blinked. "Um… I don't know, sir?" He answered, ignoring Hermione's frustrated huff.

"Potter! You and your buddy just volunteered to join me on a five-mile 'motivational run' after class for speaking out of turn!" Gunny bellowed.

Harry's jaw dropped in shock. "But… sir… I…"

Gunny glared. "Do I feel the need to run ten miles instead?" He asked pointedly. He turned to Hermione. "Potter! Why in the HELL haven't you answered my question! Perhaps the newlyweds didn't get enough sleep last night!" Harry and Hermione 'meeped' and blushed. 'Hot DAMN, this is fun!' Gunny mused. "I suppose I'll take a six-mile motivational run instead! Now answer the GOD DAMN question!"

Hermione stammered out the answer, and then proceeded to blather on about the subject far outside of the scope of the question. "Potter! Shut the HELL up! It seems to me that a certain somebody needs to understand the difference between a proper answer and a fucking Dickens novel! Drop and give me fift… ah shit that'll kill you pussies." Gunny sighed. "Drop and give me twenty!" The pair looked at him blankly.

"Oh for FUCKS SAKE! Don't tell me you limp-wristed Brits have never heard of a God damn push-up!" Gunny bellowed.

Harry and Hermione blanched, remembering primary school, then dropped supine and proceeded to struggle through the punishment.

"Now for the rest of you ignorant fucks, LISTEN UP!" Gunny continued the lesson, pounding theory and practical applications into their empty heads, occasionally pausing to hand out one sadistic punishment or another.

_**FAAAAAHBOOOOM**_!! Neville managed to detonate his cauldron, taking out half of the classroom and the back wall. Miraculously, none of the students were seriously hurt.

"LONGBOTTOM!" Gunny bellowed after clawing his way out of the rubble. "HOW IN GOD'S NAME DID YOU MANAGE TO TURN A FUCKING BURN-SALVE INTO A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION?"

"I… um… I s-s-sort of d-d-dropped th-the mu-mu-murletap a-a-after for-forgetting to add th-th-the qua-quills, suh-sir…" Neville stammered out weakly.

"HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AMAZING! TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR! GOD DAMNIT I WISH I KNEW THAT BACK IN 'NAM!" He glared at the stunned classroom. "WHY THE HELL AREN'T YOU WRITING THAT DOWN!"

o.O

A\N: Yeah, I'm definitely going to write this up as an independent story. Comments/criticisms/ideas are welcome on the snippets.

Question for Rorschach's Blot: Does off-camera buggery used as a comedic device count as slash? I'd hate to find the story orphaned from your C2.


	10. Test of Loyalty

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company are wholly owned by J.K. Rowling et. al. I am making no profit from their work.

A\N: I have no idea where this came from… well, okay, I do. I blame Seel'vor, who kept complaining (until recently) that I never gave anything good to Harry. Well, here's some more good. BTW, I hate to admit it but yeah, I did indeed get some inspiration/ideas from Team America: World Police. That should warn you about how… wrong… this snippet is.

o.O

Harry sat in his "bed" in his "bedroom" at the Dursleys. His mind kept replaying the disastrous battle at the Ministry, watching Sirius fall through the Veil over and over. He sighed.

Crack

Harry's head snapped up at the sound of a wizard apparating into his room. He hissed in anger and dove for his wand at the sight of the witch in front of him.

"Accio wand!" Bellatrix whispered. She smiled at him smugly as she pocketed his wand. "Ickle Harry-kins woose something?" She taunted in her deranged baby-voice.

Harry ignored the taunts and launched himself at her bodily, intent on strangling the life out of his godfather's murderer. As soon as his hands reached her neck, he felt the familiar 'hook at the navel' sensation of a portkey. 'Bugger,' Harry thought, 'fell for that one.' He glanced up, still chocking the bitch, expecting to see Voldemort. His jaws, and hands dropped, at the laughing man before him.

"Sirius?"

O.o

Gragglekhak grinned happily. It wasn't every day that a Goblin had the opportunity to witness the utter humiliation of such a large number of wizards and witches, and he certainly planned on savoring every second. "Alright, is that everybody?" He asked.

Dumbledore looked about the room. He counted Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, the Weasleys, Lupin, Granger, and surprisingly enough Severus Snape. "Yes, it appears that everybody who can attend is present."

"What about Mr. Potter?" The goblin asked, hiding his amusement.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid Mr. Potter didn't feel up to the occasion, and as such refused to come."

"You know that means that he forfeits his portion of the inheritance, to be split evenly between the other recipients, right?" The goblin asked, ignoring Hermione's stunned gasp.

"I'm afraid so, but Mr. Potter doesn't care about such shallow material things." Dumbledore said tiredly. Hermione and Lupin's eyes narrowed at the proclamation. 'More like you didn't let him loose,' they thought simultaneously.

"Very well," the goblin said as he unfurled the scroll. Gragglekhak hid his smirk as he read the will. "I, Sirius Black, being of unsound mind and god-like body, am afraid that life's little mysteries have seen fit to take me away from you. I'm deeply saddened at the loss of my sexy presence from your lives, and I know that you will never recover. Still, I suppose I have to divvy out my shit. To Severus Snape, true friend and mentor, I leave 3,000,000 galleons and a life-times supply of Shampoo. Thanks for all the sex, I'll miss your skill at fellatio."

Snape sputtered in anger, denying everything.

"To the Weasleys I leave 1,000,000 galleons each, because honestly you are fucking pathetically poor and I really feel sorry for you. For Merlin's sake, buy something new for once!"

Gragglekhak barely contained his laughter at the shock and horrified expressions on the collected Weasley's faced.

"To Albus Dumbledore, I leave my carefully maintained collection of SS paraphernalia, gay porn, and other Dark Artifacts. I know how much you loved buggering Grindewald, and I hope that my gifts elicit fond memories."

Dumbledore sputtered, taken completely by surprise.

"To Remus Lupin, I leave a flea-collar and these words of advice: 'Don't fucking touch my cousin or I will rip off your balls. I don't care if you thought I was your friend, you're nothing but a dirty animal!'"

The room fell silent and Remus nearly fell out of his chair laughing. The assembled group stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"To Hermione Granger, I leave a complete set of wizarding fairy tales and other cultural artifacts that quite frankly you will never understand. Just like Lily, you will always be an outsider, no matter how hard you try. Also, I will bequeath upon you my entire collection of vintage pornography. For fucks sake, masturbate for once! Really, an orgasm or three would shave away that uptight bitchy bossy edge and make you worth knowing."

Hermione broke down. Remus managed to regain control of himself and he quickly made his way over to her, hugging her tightly and whispering a few words into her ear. She only cried harder.

"And finally, to my shit-for-brains godson, I leave this final message: 'Hey, pup, guess what? You didn't kill me! In fact, I'M NOT DEAD BITCH! That's right! This entire thing is a SCAM! HAH! FUCK YOU ALL!' Now, since I know a certain senile old cocksucker didn't let his precious little toy out of the box, I just wanted to let you stupid fucks know that guess what? I'm on to you! That's right, you fucking walking pecker, I know what you planned all along, and now that your dumb arses think I'm dead, I've stolen your precious Potter out from under your pointy little noses. It's sad, but with the exception of.. well… nobody in this room, you are all a bunch of stuck-up little shits who betrayed my godson. Yeah, Remus, you fucked up, and you fucked up hard. You know what that means. Deal. To the Weasleys… look, Gred, Forge… okay, you aren't so bad. Maybe you'll figure it out. Bill and Charlie don't count, and they aren't here. Ron? You could have been a contender, you could have been somebody. But you fucked up but good Fourth year, and unlike my godson, I don't forgive, and I NEVER forget. Ginny, give it up. Harry isn't a fucking hero, he's a kid life shat all over. You don't love him, you never loved him, and frankly you aren't worthy of liking his asshole after he picked up a case of the trots. Go find some other sucker to fuck over. Mrs. Weasley, I have three words: 'Give. Me. Head.' God DAMN you are a BITCH. Merlin lady, didn't you ever wonder WHY every single FUCKING child you ever had RAN LIKE A BITCH away from you? Arthur, grow some FUCKING balls and BITCH SLAP HER DOWN! Merlin man, you are a pussy. And finally I come to Hermione… man, girl, I really thought you might actually be worth of my godson, but no, you are too fucking stuck on your rules and your obsessive fucking desire to give The Man a rim job. Fuck, didn't you ever pause for a second and think: 'Hmmm… Snape is a colostomy bag… maybe there's something wrong here.'? No, instead you just nagged and bitched and made my poor godson's life harder. Frankly, if you really are his friend, you'd know where to go. Well, that's all folks, go fuck yourselves!"

Gragglekhak rolled up the scroll, bowed, and fled the room. He slammed the door behind himself before falling on the ground and rolling with great heaves of laughter. He didn't have to worry about paying for his drinks for a looooooooong time.

o.O

Harry blinked, looking between his godfather and the bitch he hated more than Voldemort. "Um, what the fuck?" He asked intelligently.

Sirius grinned. "Come on, pup, you didn't actually believe that I'd die to something as stupid as a fucking stunner, did you?" He asked with a wink. "No no no, trust me, I'd sussed out that Dumbledore was a true cocksucker a while back, and set certain plans into motion. In fact, right about now one of my favorite parts is happening. I suppose you didn't get an invitation to my 'will' reading?" Harry shook his head. Sirius grinned. "I thought not. Well, here's the run down: Dumbledore is as much as a douche as Voldemort, and even though he doesn't mean to be, just as evil. Bella here," Sirius nodded to his cousin, "has been the Black plant in Voldemort's camp for years, just like I was the plant in the old coot's."

Harry blinked. "Wait… you mean… she's not a psychotic murdering bitch?" He asked, confused. Bella preened under the compliments.

Sirius barked out his laughter. "Oh, no, Bella dear is indeed a psychotic murdering bitch."

"Oooh, Siri-kins, you say the nicest things!" Bella cooed.

"Right. As I was saying, but even though she's a psychotic murdering bitch, she's a BLACK. And blood, my dear boy, is thicker than Dumbledore's skull." Bella nodded in agreement. "So, we put together a little plan, and for the most part it worked." Sirius scowled. "Unfortunately, Snivillus bollixed everything up, and managed to get not only your parents, but my fucking little brother killed as well." Sirius's eyes became as demented as his cousin's. "That fucker will pay in ways that will make Voldemort vomit, I promise you." Bella sighed with orgasmic pleasure.

"Ooooh, does widdle Sirius weally wanna make his cousin happy happy today?" She cooed.

Sirius and Harry shuddered simultaneously. "Um… no." Sirius said flatly. Bellatrix pouted.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear out the mental image. "So, right…um… what now?"

Sirius grinned. "Well, pup, in the 'will' I left a little message." He scowled. "Remus will know what it means, and what he's got to do to make up for his fucking up so badly."

Harry looked at his godfather inquisitively. "What do you mean?"

"Pup, Remus should have never listened to that old fucker. He know QUITE well that if Prongs ever bit the big one, his job was to shred the Dursleys into a fine red mist. Lily never quite grasped how evil her sister could be, and unfortunately the flea-bitten mutt listened to the manipulative old bastard rather than his friends." Sirius shook his head. "He'll have to pass the Test of Loyalty if he wants to see you again."

Bella giggled. "Can I watch?" She said, skipping in place and clapping her hands.

"Err… no." Sirius answered, sickened. Bella pouted.

A cough broke their concentration. The three looked up at Remus' figure in the doorway, a wry grin on his face. "Speaking of which, shall we?" Remus asked.

Sirius shrugged. "You know what to do." He said, flatly.

Remus made a slightly disgusted face. "Well, lets get this over with," he said as he walked out the door. Sirius followed, closing the door behind him, leaving Harry alone with Bellatrix.

Harry rocked back and forth, not terribly comfortable with the company. Bellatrix cooed and batted at invisible butterflies. "So… um… just curious, are you by chance related to the Lovegoods?"

Bella gave Harry a brilliant smile. "Oh yes! I so miss my precious widdle baby Woona, but I have to be the bad guy." She pouted.

Harry shuddered. "Right… um… yeah. So, uh… yeah… um… sorry about the whole… you know… unforgivable thing… I guess." He muttered.

"Oh, ickle-babykins, widdle Hawwy doesn't need to apologize because widdle Harry doesn't know how to throw a proper spell!" Bella cooed.

Harry's head snapped up. "What the HELL do you mean by that?"

Bella smiled. "Nothing... does widdle Harry-kins wanna pwatice some more?" She asked with a lusty and delirious look in her eyes.

"Um… no." Harry replied. Bella pouted.

"Exploding Snap?" She asked, pulling out a deck of cards. Harry shrugged, and in perhaps the most surreal moment in his life began to play a hand with Bellatrix LeStrange ne Black.

o.O

About five minutes later, Sirius re-entered the room looking much less manic, followed by his friend Remus who was busily shoveling chocolate into his mouth.

Sirius grinned. "Well, now that we've taken care of that…"

He was interrupted by a feminine cough behind him. He turned to see Hermione standing behind them, tapping her wand against her temple.

"Huh?" Sirius asked intelligently.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, did you really think that I'd leave Harry behind?" She asked.

"But… how?" Sirius asked the question on everybody else's mind.

"Tracking charm on Remus," Hermione explained calmly.

"I dispelled every tracking charm on me!" Remus said defensively.

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Of course you did. That's why I placed a contingency charm on you dispelling Albus' tracking charms."

Remus chuckled. "Clever girl," he said, "didn't think of that."

Sirius shrugged. "Fine… but you'll have to prove your devotion to Harry by passing the Test of Loyalty." Remus blanched.

"Sirius…" The werewolf said.

"No. She bollixed up earlier, and now she's got to pass the test." Sirius said flatly. Remus sighed in resignation.

"Fine," he replied.

"Whatever it takes," Hermione pledged, "so what do I have to do?"

"Suck Harry's dick." Sirius answered flatly.

Harry thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head. "WHAT?" He asked.

Sirius grinned while Remus just sighed and shook his head. "That's the test we came up with our fourth year. If a Marauder ever betrayed the group, they'd have to pass the Test of Loyalty to get back in."

Harry blanched. "So… you mean…"

Sirius' eyes twinkled. "Do you really want to know the answer to that question, pup?"

Harry shook his head. "No. No I don't. Look, um… Hermione doesn't have to..."

"Oh no pup, no. She fucked up and now she's got to pass the Test." Sirius said firmly. He looked to Hermione. "So, are you willing to shelve your precious uptight morality for Harry, and prove your devotion, or are we going to have to obliviate you and leave you outside of the Leaky Cauldron?"

Hermione shrugged, walked up to Harry, dropped to her knees, pulled down his pants and popped his pecker into her mouth. Harry gasped as she gobbled his cock like Ron gobbled down breakfast. About thirty seconds into it, she started humming a little tune while ferociously slurping his schlong. With a grunt, Harry let loose his swimmers, but Hermione kept bobbing and humming until he managed to not only regain his resolve, but spray it down the back of her throat a second time. After carefully returning his package to its original position, she daintily stood up an primly wiped off the corners of her mouth.

"I always go for extra credit on every test I take," Hermione said with a twinkle in her eyes.

Harry merely gurgled.

o.O

Omake:

Ron showed up on their doorstep a week later, looking contrite.

"Look, I know I've been a prat, but Harry is my best mate and all…" he said, contritely.

"You've got to pass the Test of Loyalty first." Sirius said solemnly.

"Um… okay. What's the test?" Ron asked cautiously.

"Suck Harry's dick." Remus answered. Harry noted the eerily predatory looks on both Hermione and Bella's faces.

"Suck Harry's dick?" Ron asked, mortified.

Hermione nodded.

Ron broke out into a great big smile and grinned. "Oh thank Merlin, I thought it might be something hard, like Potions!"

"No, no way no how!" Harry replied.

Omake two:

A few weeks later, another knock was heard at the door. The group opened it warily, and nearly fainted in shock at the sight of Severus Snape.

He sneered. "What? You think I LIKE the buggering old bastard? So, what do I have to do to join your little… party?" He asked nastily.

"Suck Harry's dick." Sirius replied.

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "You're joking." He said flatly.

Sirius broke out into a great big grin. "Nopes."

Severus shrugged. "Fine then."

Harry noted the faint lines of drool coming from Hermione, Bella, and Ron's mouths. "No. No way. Now way in HELL! Absolutely NOT!"

Omake the third:

Argus Filch showed up a few weeks later.

"So, what do I have to do to join this little crusade?" He asked.

Sirius blanched. "Suck Harry's dick?" He said, slightly ill.

Argus shrugged. "No worse than what I have to do for my annual job evaluation at Hogwarts." He replied.

"NO FUCKING WAY! NO NO NO NO NO!" Harry screamed in horror.

A\N: Well, if you ignore the Omake, I gave Harry something good. :P


	11. A lil LaVey to Brighten your Day!

A\N: This may offend some people, probably far more than anything else I've written, but I'd like to think that people literate enough to read my stories possess the ability to take them with a grain (many) of salt. The humanistic/religious philosophies are not my own, rather they belong to the estate of A.S. LaVey et. al. No, Virginia, they don't actually believe in the Judeo-Christian concept of Satan. They just pretend too because they like to see your knickers in a twist. Oh, and there's mention of Vernon Dursley getting laid. Sorry. Just… think about puppies.

This story is told from (mostly) Vernon's POV.

o.O

Sirius Black reflected on his time across the Veil of Death. It certainly wasn't what he expected, not from the after life or any other form of magical transdimensional teleportation. Instead of seeing Lily and James, he met up with a scantily clad goddess who looked rather miffed at his presence.

"Damn it, why couldn't you have been the blond girl. She'd have been a lot more fun." The deity whined. Later on, she explained exactly what the Veil was, and what she meant by the blond being more fun. Something about her being more open to new experiences. For the life of him, Sirius couldn't figure out what the girl would be open to that he wouldn't, and he'd proceeded to shag (and be shagged) stupid in an effort to prove her wrong.

Later, the still unnamed goddess (Sirius thought of her as Sue. He didn't know why, it simply struck him as appropriate. If pressed, he'd reply it was short for Suzanne.) explained that he was allowed one minor change to the time-line of his original plane, but he'd best be careful. Unfortunately, saving Lily and James would only result in their death at a later point, and Harry's paralysis. Finally, it struck him that a fat useless pig like Vernon had to have turned out that way for a reason, and he'd decided to take a quick review of the bastard's life to see exactly why he'd grown into such an overstuffed arse. The results of his inquiry shocked him, to say the least. It seems that Vernon'd grown up much like Harry, and in some sick way actually thought he was doing right by the boy. After getting assurances from Sue that Vernon and Petunia were (shudder) soul mates fated to fall madly in (shudder) love, Sirius smiled and indicated the single event he'd alter. Sue smiled, curious to see the results.

And so it was that one Vernon Dursley, starving and exhausted from a day of forced labor under his Cromwellian step-father, noticed a beat-up copy of Anton LaVey's Satanic Bible at a 5-pence thrift store. Unlike the original timeline, his curiosity got the better of him, and he paid the price with the coins he'd managed to find on the sidewalk.

o.O

Vernon Dursley was a very happy man. He and his wife had just finished another long bout of love making, his hated supervisor had just committed suicide after his wife discovered his adulterous ways, opening the way for another promotion. He basked in the afterglow, his great belly heaving in delight, when his pleasant post-coital bliss was disrupted by a knock from the front door. 'Who in the bloody hell would visit at this hour?' He thought, disgruntled at the interruption. 'If it's the boys from the ol' Hellfire club, I'm going to beat them senseless.' He dragged his vast (and hard-earned) bulk out of bed, followed by a grumbling Petunia. The pair trundled down the stairs and opened the door, prepared to tear the inconsiderate sot that interrupted their nightly ritual a new one. Vernon's eyes narrowed at the empty space where an arsehole should have stood. He was just about the slam the door and swear long and loudly about the neighborhood brats when Petunia's gasp broke his concentration. He followed her pointing spindly finger to the figure of a one-year-old baby laying in a basket on his porch. He noted the kid was wrapped in blankets, and he seemed to have one Hell of a dinger on his forhead. "Now what sort of Evangelical arse-nugget would leave a baby alone and injured like that?" He spat out, growing rather more pissed by the second. Petunia gasped when the child opened its eyes, revealing the most incredibly bright green orbs Vernon'd ever seen.

"That… that's Lily's child," she stammered. "No! I will not have her child in my house!" She shrieked.

For the first time in his life, Vernon restrained himself from slapping his wife. "Pet! What in the bloody hell is wrong with you! It's a baby, for Christ's sakes. I don't care what bad blood you and your sister may or may not have had, but this child is injured and needs to see a doctor!" He gently picked up the baby, marveling at how tiny it was in his hands, just like his little Dudders. A letter fell from the wrappings. With shaking hands, Petunia began to read. She blinked, shocked. Vernon glanced over at his wife. "What is it, Pet?"

"Lily's… dead. James too. They've been murdered." She stammered.

"And so some bloody buggering arse up and dropped the baby off on our doorstep, not even having the common fucking courtesy to heal him up? What sort of sick, sadistic freaks did your sister hang out with?"

"Freaks is exactly what they were, and I won't have another one of them in my house." Petunia spat.

Vernon's eyes narrowed. "Pet… think about what you just said."

Petunia had the descency to blush. "Oh, right. Sorry dear… it's just there's so many bad memories…"

Vernon drew his wife into a one-armed hug. "Look, Pet, we've all got bad memories. The point is hate the people that are worth hating, and love the people worth loving. He's just a baby. Don't get all Nationalist on me, Pet, you're better than that."

Petunia sniffed, fighting back tears of shame. She nodded. "So, what are we going to do?"

"First, we're going to get the boy looked at. Then we're going to make sure that this is all above the table. Satan knows we can't bloody well afford the tiniest hint of illegality in our lives, considering how the small minded plebes take our religion."

Petunia nodded. "I'll take care of Duddi-kins. You go do whatever it is you need to do."

With a grunt, Vernon hugged his wife and carried the baby back inside. Gently laying the boy down, he changed out of his pyjamas and, picking him gently up, carried the newest member of the Dursley family out the door and to his car.

"Well, kid, looks like you've been handed a wad of shite from the get-go. Don't worry, though. We'll make sure you've got your head on straight and grow up strong and proud." Smirking to himself, Vernon considered the benefits of having a child around that his Pet, whom he loved from the bottom of his heart but couldn't help but know she'd be a right petty bitch sometimes, wouldn't mind near as much that Vernon'd raise him up to be a proper Satanist, just like his dear adoptive dad.

o.O

Vernon paced the hospital waiting room nervously. He didn't like the sudden frantic efforts of the doctor, not when it was happening to his nephew. He was just about to barge in and demand to know what in the Hell was going on when a flustered, but obviously relieved, doctor walked calmly into the room. Vernon glared at the man, out of spite.

"Mr. Dursley?" The doctor asked. Vernon swallowed a nasty comment over the fact that he was alone in the room and nodded. The doctor continued. "I must say your nephew is incredibly fortunate that you took him in when you did. We found a rapidly, and I do mean rapidly, growing tumor in the center of his wound. I really must say that I've never seen something quite like it."

Vernon glared. "And? Is the boy going to be alright?"

The doctor had the grace to blush. "Oh, sorry, he's just fine. It's just… well… the whole affair was quite unusual. I don't think I've ever heard of a tumor actively trying to resist removal… and when we finally got the thing out and dropped it into the proper disposal…" The doctor shuddered. "I'm still trying to understand that horrible horrible scream…" He brightened visibly as he continued. "But no matter. I'd say your nephew is going to be just fine. In fact, his health visibly improved the moment that tumor was disposed off… although whatever possessed the nurse to inject it with drain cleaner, stab it fifty or so times with a scalpel, then drop it into the incinerator…"

Vernon blinked. That didn't sound too terribly medical to him. "Err… is that normal disposal?"

The doctor blinked, suddenly filled with visions of lawsuits and malfeasance letters. "Oh, yes… um, we find it catharitic to dispose of dangerous tumors that way. Really. It's harmless, you see… not attached any more and all that."

Vernon pondered the doctors words for a moment. "Too right. Sounds bloody brilliant, now that you mention it. Excellent gesture that." The doctor let out a sigh of relief, his golf cart no longer floating away in the winds of malpractice suits. "So, um… when can I see the boy?"

The doctor smiled, touched by the elephantine man's concern. "Oh, well, we're going to keep him overnight for observation, and to make sure there aren't any bits of that tumor left over… in fact, we watching it like a hawk, considering the growth rate I rather doubt we'd fail to notice any missing bits… Normally we'd suggest chemo, but right now we're almost convinced that perhaps it was some form of mutated fly larvae that managed to wrap itself in the boy's damaged tissues… yes, that would explain the antagonistic behavior… yes, that's it!"

Vernon shrugged, having seen such fits of rationalization many times in his life, and having underwent them a few on his own. "Well, I'll just wait here until I can see the boy."

The doctor nodded. "That sounds like a wonderful idea." He seemed to deliberate for a moment, before adding, "and by the way, perhaps you'd like to take this opportunity to review some of our nutritional pamphlets? You know that obesity is one of the contributing factors to heart disease."

Vernon narrowed his eyes and closed the gap between him and the doctor. "I. Like. To. Eat. If that means I keel over before I'm stuck in a home, then jolly that!" The doctor stammered out some form of hasty excuse and fled the room. Vernon grunted, happy that he'd managed to out-bully the worst kind of bully: the kind that thought they knew how to run your life better than you did.

o.O

Vernon spent the next few years raising his two boys and advancing up the Grunnings corporate ladder. His wife may have resented the intrusion in her house, but she couldn't find fault with the joy that having another son brought her beloved husband. She seemed to appreciate the fact that Harry's eating habits were far closer to her own than her Diddikins and Hubby. Vernon grunted, but who was he to judge. After all, the boy certainly showed signs of loving life in his own way, and even at the youngest age possessed a burning need to get himself into messes he otherwise shouldn't. And so the years passed, with Vernon imparting bits of LaVey's wisdom to his sons (as he considered Harry to be as much, if not sometimes a bit more, his child as Dudders). Harry lapped it up, although Dudders seemed more like his mother at times. Vernon still remembered the time Harry got into his first bit of serious trouble at school.

Harry had gotten into a boyish spat with two lads a few years older and twice his size. Like the proper Satanist, there was none of that silly turn-the-other-cheek nonsense, rather he'd properly busted the sodding bastards up. Still, Vernon had to find out why the lad busted the brats (making him all fuzzy and proud inside). To his disgust, it was because the kids had been bullying some other boys. He'd taken Harry aside and had a little chat about that.

"Now Harry, don't you think for one minute I'm upset because you knocked those bastards around a bit. I'm angry because of why you did it. Were those boys your friends?"

Harry shook his head. "Actually, I don't much like them," he replied. "They are very snooty."

Vernon grunted. "Then why did you stick up for them?"

Harry blinked. "Because… because it's wrong to beat up people just because they annoy you."

Vernon nodded. "That's right… so why am I upset?"

Harry shuffled his feet in shame. "Because I shouldn't have gotten involved?"

Vernon shook his head. "No, boy, that's not it at all. I've got to say I'm proud that you're willing to bloody people for your convictions, but you've got to do it for the right reasons. You see, the people who should have stopped the problem are the teachers. They didn't, which is exactly what you have to expect from authority, the two-faced moralistic hypocrites that they are. Those boys, however, didn't deserve you sticking up for them. I mean, do you think they'll be your friends now? Do you even want them to be? Let the sheep get culled, and don't waste your energy on the worthless." Harry flushed in shame. Vernon gave him a manly clap on the shoulder. "Now don't you waste your time with shame, Harry, guilt is for the mindless masses. Learn, and do better, be stronger than your enemies, and never miss a chance to tweak their tiny little minds."

Harry grinned. "Like the time I hollered out 'Ave Satanis' in the middle of forced mass?"

Vernon beamed. "Precicely! Now, next time I hear of you brutally beating up your classmates, I want to know that it was for the right reason!"

Harry nodded, vowing to become a stronger boy, not one of the mindless sheep.

o.O

And so the years passed, with Harry become the star attraction amongst the local Six-Six-Six. Vernon was dancing on the clouds for days after Harry'd discovered he could speak to snakes. "Oh wait until the Hellfire boys hear about this! They'll be so envious they'll be pissing shamrock green for months!"

Finally, on the advent of Harry's eleventh birthday, a large brown owl swooped into the kitchen during breakfast and dropped a letter on his lap. In flowing green letters, it revealed that Harry was a Wizard, and was invited to attend Hogwarts. Vernon narrowed his eyes at the frankly abysmal lack of information in the letter. "Seems to me somebody's trying to pull a horse-and-pony show with you, Harry. Tell you what, go ahead and reply, and I'll ask about if any of the boys know other parents with children attending an 'exclusive boarding school in Scotland.' I smell horseshit, and I'd rather you feed 'em rather than eat it." Harry nodded, silently agreeing with his adopted father.

And so it was that Vernon made quite inquiries amongst the local and regional Six-Six-Six. A day later, he'd gotten an invitation to meet with another parent over at one of the nastiest football bars. Vernon quickly agreed, asking how he'd know the contact. The message was passed: 'squick the sheep, hooligans are as superstitious as the next wanker.'

He grinned, it'd been a while since he'd crashed a bar in full regalia.

o.O

Vernon thundered into the bar dressed in a solid black suit with red tie and trim, dripping with pentagrams, upside-down crosses, and other blasphemous jewelry. No sooner than the door closed behind him that he raised his fist in an Imperial Roman salute and belted out a bellowing "HAIL SATAN!"

The bar fell silent as wide-eyed no-necked thugs strained themselves looking at the large man who'd so calmly claimed allegiance to the devil. Mind you, they thought in smaller words than that. Vernon heard the audible snap of the patron's necks when a responding "HAIL SATAN!" came from the lips of a smallish looking gent in proper Catholic livery. Vernon grinned and trundled his way over. "Padre," he said sarcastically as he plopped down next to the man.

Needless to say, their conversation was followed religiously by the patrons, and upon hearing the words witches and magic quickly dismissed as the ramblings of a pair of obvious lunatics. A few of the braver, and drunker, patrons thought about taking a swing at the bastards who didn't love Jesus like a proper Brit should, but lingering childhood boogey-men and superstitions stayed their hands. After all, you never know if the crazy bastards might actually have an in with the Devil, and Heaven help the man who got the Lord of Flies attention. No, they'd simply keep there ears open and make sure they weren't planning on sacrificing anybody important, like their sons and daughters.

By the end of the conversation, Vernon Dursley was a very unhappy man. It appeared his fellow Satanist (a British dentist… how fitting) and his wife (also a Satanist, also a dentist) received a much more informative packet, as well as a personal visit from one of the professors that very day. After discussing his boy's parentage, as well as the painfully terse letter, the pair agreed that yes, somebody was trying to jerk them around, and no, they didn't like that at all. The decided that they'd get together and let Harry have a good look at the material that hadn't made its way to the Dursley residence. The next half-hour was spent listening to the man wake rhapsodic about the virtues of his daughter, a trait Vernon'd grown used to (and a bit sympathetic if his own bragging about his boys were any indication), chuckling over Dr. Granger's plight. It seems their daughter hit upon the 'rebellious activist' stage, even going so far as to place a poster of Margret Thatcher up on her wall.

"Margret Bloody Thatcher!" Dr. Granger exclaimed. "How the Hell am I supposed to live down the shame!" Vernon chuckled, quite happy his own boys hadn't hit the rebellious stage yet.

"Don't you worry, my boy's a proper Satanist, he'll set her back on the Downward Path." Vernon bragged.

Dr. Granger laughed, then gave Vernon a playful glare. "He'd best keep his Adultery to himself!"

Vernon snorted. "Ha! No worries, no worries, he's bloody eleven. Doubt his balls've dropped yet." Vernon chuckled at Dr. Granger's odd dichotomy of protective father-figure faced with a blooming daughter against his religious belief that sexual morality was a tool designed to constrain the masses through needless guilt over feelings every living creature feels within thirty minutes of waking. Vernon silently thanked his lucky stars that he didn't have a daughter, and thus could avoid the whole messy thing.

A\N: Dunno if I'm going to write more of this… (seriously doubt it) still, that'd be a story for the DLP crew. If you're going to write dark!independant!but not actually EVIL!Harry, might as well go for the gold!


	12. Holy Bouncing Baphomet, Batman!

A\N: My… I guess I stumbled upon another gem. Whoof, DEFINITELY need to do some serious scrubbing of that last chapter, especially around the end. By the way, if anybody wants to Beta my work, feel free. The rough drafts are posted (I told you it was a drabble set).

Slight Edit: Changed the conversation between Harry and Hermione to better reflect Harry's Satanic beliefs. That and it sounds a lot less hippy. Bah, hippies.

o.O

Vernon found himself quite impressed with the stately Granger residence. He lead Harry up to the main doorway and pressed the ringer. They shared an appreciative nod at the echoing organ notes that followed. "See boy? Sometimes there's a proper bit of merit to a cliché." Vernon lectured happily. Harry nodded, having reached the same conclusion. The door opened, revealing the same gent Vernon'd met at he bar. The walk in, the man giving a short tour of the grounds, pointing out this or that award or spot of art. Vernon and Harry made appropriate noises of appreciation.

Finally they found themselves in a comfortable living room. Vernon raised a single eyebrow at Dr. Granger, who nodded. "My daughter's room is up the stairs and three doors to the left," Dr. Granger said to Harry. "Seeing as the two of you will be classmates soon, why don't you run up and introduce yourself? Who knows, might get started early making friends."

Harry rolled his eyes and looked straight at his father. "You're trying to protect me again, aren't you?"

Vernon grinned, glad that his boy was no dupe. "That's right Harry, and we're sending you out of the room to do it." He smiled at his boy's indignant expression. "Here now son, protecting their boys is what good father's do. I'm not going to have many more chances, seeing as you're leaving in a few weeks. Let your old man take the burden this time."

Harry broke out into a wide smile, and quickly gave his father a hug. "All right, Dad, but you better not try and spin a line of shite later."

"That's my boy. Now go run along and maybe do something about that thing I told you about earlier."

Harry nodded, and walked out of the room. As soon as Vernon heard Harry's footsteps going up the stairs, he motioned for Dr. Granger to tell him everything. It wasn't long before the pair broke out the Scotch. It was going to be a long night.

o.O

Harry found the door to Hermione's room, and politely knocked. He heard a the sounds of somebody bustling about behind the door, before it opened to reveal a bushy-haired buck-tooth girl dressed up in the most unflattering clothing possible. Harry barely managed to repress his shudder. The situation was far worse than he'd suspected. "Hi, I'm Harry Dursley. My father wanted to talk about Hogwarts with your father, and suggested that perhaps we could get to know each other early."

Hermione took in the boy. He was dressed in black, positively dripping with satanic jewelry and his shirt was covered in obscene phrases. She sniffed a bit in disdain. Harry thought he might have thrown up a little in his mouth.

"Well, come in then," she said imperiously, holding the door for him. He meandered into the room, taking in bookcase after bookcase.

'Hmmm… Neitze, Joyce, Goethe, Limbaugh… wait, Limbaugh?!'

"So, Harry, I've heard stories about you from my father." She made it sound like that was a bad thing. "Did you really manage to convince twenty high-school girls to sacrifice their virginity in your name?" She _definitely_ made that sound like a bad thing.

Still, Harry couldn't help beaming in pride. "Yup! Still a bit amazed at that one myself!" Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts, turned her head, and sniffed.

'What. The. Bloody. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. Her.' He thought, sickened. Trying to come up with something positive to say, and failing, he started looking about the room. His eyes fell upon a large poster of Margaret Thatcher's glowering face given a spot of honor on her wall.

"No. No no no no no," Harry mumbled out, disgusted.

"What?" Hermione asked sharply.

"The evil white-lady afro just threatened to eat me. Take it down."

"What? No! Honestly, Harry, you need to show the Prime Minister the respect due her station!"

Harry'd heard enough. "Respect due her station? Didn't your parents raise you better than that?"

Hermione flushed. "Don't bring my parents into this!"

"Well I don't see why not! That woman," he spat out, "is a threat to your parents simply because they don't follow her mindless morality. What ever possessed you to start acting this way? Don't tell me you thought that being bossy and kowtowing to authority would actually impress your classmates."

"My classmates are nothing but immature children," she retorted spitefully.

Harry shook his head. "So, it's your teachers then. You chose impressing the mindless parrots of the Socialist State over the two people who love you and gave you life? Were you high?"

"Mr. Dursley!" Hermione hollered out, utterly affronted.

Harry walked over to her closet and flung open the doors.

"What do you think you are doing?" She screeched.

He started pulling her dowdy, conservative clothing off of the hangers and tossing them onto the floor. "I'm seeing just how bad off you are, and how long you've been there."

"You, you can't do that!"

"Hmm? Oh, right. No, sorry, yes I can," he said, tossing a particularly horrid article of clothing over his shoulder. "You see, you've decided to become a mindless sheep, and now you're getting fleeced. A pity, I'd hoped to have found a friend, but I suppose I could always use a slave."

"What?!"

"Will to Power, Hermione. I have it, you don't. Ergo, it is your moral imperative to do as I say." His eyes lit up as he finally found some proper outfits, all black lace and Victorian corsets. "Not so far gone," he mumbled to himself. He swept past the closet towards her bookshelf. He began randomly tossing books onto the pile of clothing. "No, don't need that, crap, crap, crap."

"YOU STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!" Hermione screamed. Harry grinned. He'd found her weak point. His eye's lit up at the sight of an original printing of Joyce's works. He laid his hand on it.

"Oh, this is entirely too good for you. Hmmm… oh, I've read it. Oh well, always need some kindling for the fire." He said, pulling the book from its perch.

"You… you…" Hermione sputtered.

"Now now, _Candi_, don't get angry. You know that anger is bad. Smile and nod and shut the hell up. Know your role, and all that." He said jauntily.

Hermione snapped. She flung herself at Harry, and floored him with a surprisingly painful right hook. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF DOG SHITE! I BET YOU TEABAG DONKEYS WHILE SUCKING COCK FOR A PENCE ON THE CORNER!"

"Good!" Harry exclaimed, "Good! Hate me! Don't take this shit!"

Hermione was past the point of reason. "YOU FUCKING ARSEHAT! I'LL FLENSE THE SKIN FROM YOUR SCREAMING BODY BEFORE I HAVE YOUR STILL TWITCHING CORPSE DEFILED BY DEMONS!"

"Oh God I think I just had my first erection," Harry said in awe.

"I'LL TEAR OFF YOUR BALLS AND WEAR YOUR FUCKING HEAD AS A HAT YOU SHEEP BUGGERING COMMUNIST!"

Harry smiled happily and stood, brushing himself off. "There now luv, don't you feel better?"

Hermione blinked. She nodded shyly.

"Come on, let's clean this mess up. Just think, there's a whole new school full of unsuspecting plebes. Do you really want to be one of them? Are you really so pathetic that you crave the hollow compliments of disinterested authority over the genuine love of your parents?" Hermione shook her head. "Good, good! Now, first things first: Get that ugly bitch off of your wall. I'm serious. I think her afro wants to eat me."

Hermione grinned, walked over to the poster, and tore it down with relish. Harry smiled. "Friends, then?" Hermione nodded.

The couple busily set about removing all traces of Hermione's tragic mistake.

"You really do throw yourself one hundred percent into things, don't you?" Harry asked. Hermione blushed, and nodded.

"I suppose I do," she said, somewhat ashamed.

"Bah, stop that! Guilt is for the Catholics. Come on; let me hear you say it." Harry said.

Hermione blushed. "But I feel silly…"

"That's the point!" Harry said. "You don't accept it! Prove to yourself you that aren't their little bitch! Say it, revel in it, and spit in their faces! Glorify in your own godhood!"

Hermione grinned. "Hail Satan."

Harry shook his head. "Pathetic. Why, I'd almost think you actually believed he was real."

Hermione growled. "Ave Satanis!" She shouted.

"Ave Satanis! Welcome back!" Harry casually waived his hand at the pile of Conservative Propaganda and dowdy dresses. "I think we need to give this whole mess a proper ending. Look, get dressed in something respectable, and we'll put this behind you for good."

Hermione grinned. "Expecting to watch?"

Harry blinked. "Um, look, the morality may be willing, but the flesh is prepubescent."

Hermione's eyes flashed and she shoved her hand down Harry's trousers. Harry let out an 'eep!' in surprise. Feeling nothing but smooth skin, she hummed thoughtfully before removing her hand. "I suppose you're right. Out you go then!"

Harry blinked as she bustled him out the door. "Dear Satan she really does fling herself into it, doesn't she?" He smiled. He'd found a friend.

He casually walked down the stair and poked his head into the room where his father and Dr. Granger were plotting. "Excuse me, Dr. Granger? Do you have a fire-pit we can borrow for a spot?"

Dr. Granger blinked. A moment later Hermione appeared next to Harry, wearing her black petticoats, lace dress, and leather thigh-highs. Dr. Granger blinked again. "Well, I suppose there's always the barbeque pit…"

"Thanks Daddy!" Hermione said before running back up the stairs. "Harry, mind giving me a hand? This shite is heavy." She yelled down. Harry grinned and raced up to help her.

"Well I'll be damned," Dr. Granger said. "That boy's amazing."

Vernon puffed up with paternal pride. "Ain't he though? Makes me proud to be his father, he does."

A\N: And I haven't even gotten them to Diagon Alley yet. Oh dear. This is gonna be fun.


	13. NASBF

A/N: Dunno where this came from. Feel free to pillage the idea for what little value it has. Still working on my various drafts, but this drabble got stuck in my head. It's not exactly a comedic bit... although somebody might get a chuckle out of it.

A/N the Second: This is NOT comedy. It's dark, and mildly gruesome. A couple irritated reviews convinced me to update the warnings.

Tentative DLP Rating: Kinsfire

A Different Look at the 'Classic' Ginny/Harry Soul Bond Fic– AU fourth year, takes place after the second task.

o.O

Dumbledore smiled happily as he completed the Soul Bonding ritual with Ginevra Weasley. He'd managed to procure permission from both Molly and her daughter, and he was sure that Harry wouldn't mind. After all, it was for 'the greater good.' He'd need the support for the challenges that lay ahead. He'd explained the benefits to the youngest Weasley, that the Bond would ensure Harry's love as well as letting her share his magical power. She'd agreed happily, content with the knowledge that all of her childhood fantasies were guaranteed to come true.

O.o

Ginny fell asleep, deliriously happy over the turn of events. Soon, her dreams were filled with visions of white weddings and raven-haired children. Unfortunately, Dumbledore forgot one very critical fact: Once a puppet, always a puppet.

The sliver of Voldemort's soul that resided in Harry felt a familiar echo in the now shared soul, and leapt from Harry's slumbering body into Ginny's.

o.O

The deformed homunculus that held the remainder of Voldemort's soul laughed in abject joy. "Wormtail!" It bellowed, "Quickly set up the cauldron! There's been a change in plans. The time of my rebirth is nigh, but there's no time to waste!"

Startled out of his restless sleep, Wormtail bit back any grumbles and rushed to prepare his master's ceremony.

O.o

Ginny's eyes glowed red as she pondered her next course of action. She knew that the wards around the castle would instantly notify Dumbledore if any of his students were attacked. 'Pity,' she thought as she gazed on the innocently sleeping mudblood. 'Ah well, my dear brother is the thing he'd miss the most.' She smiled wickedly as she silently padded out of the girls dormitories. Using the shared knowledge with Riddle, Ginny bypassed the few minor watching charms and slipped up the stairs to the boys dormitory and entered Harry's dorm. She gently unlocked Harry's trunk, removing his invisibility cloak. She then slunk over to the closet, and withdrew Harry's prize Firebolt.

She smiled. While creating inferni usually took hours of careful rituals, she'd developed an incantation that would create temporary servants. She'd never had the chance to utilize it on the field of battle, as it had rather unpleasant side effects on the body of the caster. Fortunately, that wouldn't be an issue for long. She smiled in beatific joy. Soon, she'd rejoin with her father, and the world would be theirs for the taking. She snuck over to Harry's side. He slept fitfully, his scar swollen and bleeding. Quietly, she took Harry's wand from his desk. Waving her own wand, she cast _silencio_ on the wand, and then silently snapped it in half. She placed the broken shards of Harry's wand back on his bed-side desk.

She threw open the blinds that concealed her brother's sleeping form. 'This is going to be delightful.'

With the greatest of haste, she artfully redecorated Harry's bed with the entrails of his roommates, cast the reanimation ritual over their dead bodies, threw on the invisibility cloak, blew open the dormitory window and flew out on Harry's beloved broomstick. Cackling madly, she disapparated to the Gaunt Mansion the moment she left the restrictive Hogwarts wards.

o.O

Harry woke up screaming in agony, clutching his scar. Blearily, he reached for his glasses. He felt something warm and wet brushing against his arm. Grumbling about immature pranks, he fumbled about for his glasses. Placing them on his face, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. It looked like his roommates had covered his bed with warm wet foul-smelling oversize noodles. He grumbled about prats and their bloody pranks. A wet schlumping sound drew is attention away from the disgusting decorations that covered his still aching body. He flung open the blinds around his bed vowing to kill the bastards who did this.

His screams filled the Gryffindor tower as the flayed and eviscerated corpses of Ron, Neville, Seamus and Dean started to claw and bite at his tender flesh.

O.o

Ginny screamed in pain from her position in the boiling cauldron as the magical consequences of her betrayal began unraveling her body. Wormtail thrust the warped body of Voldemort into the roiling liquid, intoning the final words of the ceremony. With a great torrent of blood, screams and heat, Ginny's body dissolved into the liquid while the restless fragment of Voldemort's soul rejoined the original.

Laughing in triumph, Tom Riddle stood, clothed in living flesh once again.

o.O

Dumbledore almost vomited as he took in the horrid scene in front of his eyes. 'How did this happen?' He thought, horrified at the carnage in the Gryffindor tower. Poppy screamed when Harry's mangled body convulsed.

"Sweet Merlin, he's still alive," she exclaimed. "Albus, quickly! If we act now, we might still be able to save him."

Dumbledore hasten to charm Harry's body to the Hospital Wing. 'Even if the boy survives…' He took one last regretful look at Harry's desk, and the snapped wand on top. "Who could have committed this horrible act?"

O.o

Hermione woke, feeling refreshed and ready to face another day of academic challenges. She heard her roommates shuffling about in their beds. 'Lazy arses,' she thought sardonically. Stretching, she crawled out of bed and glanced around the room. 'That's funny,' she thought, 'I wonder why Ginny's up so early.'

A/N: Well, that's all I've got. I always wondered what the consequences of forging a "Soul Bond" with Harry would be, all things considered. Voldemort's soul bits always seemed rather opportunistic to me.


	14. I want laser beam eyes

A/N: And back to my normally scheduled mindless humor. This is a possible light-hearted 'sequel' of sorts to the last chapter. A very minuscule drabble while I work on my longer, better stories.

o.O

The Order stared at the goblin in front of them. In his clawed hands, he held up a hologram of Harry's head. "Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the Ontology." The hologram showed various enchanted body parts. "We have the capability to make the world's first Psionic Man." The hologram showed the parts installed in Harry's body. "Harry Potter will be that man." Next showed a sequence of Harry lifting ridiculously oversized bags of gold. "Better than he was before." More sequences of magical components overlaid his mangled legs. "Better, stronger, faster." The image of Harry running away from a dragon, easily breaking sixty k.

"We will make him the Six Million Galleon Man!"

O.o

Harry woke up in an unfamiliar hospital wing. He blinked over at the goblin in a white healer's robe next to him. He groped around for his glasses until he realized he no longer needed them. "What… what happened," he gasped out.

The goblin smiled. "How are we feeling, Mr. Potter?" The goblin asked.

Harry bit back the classic '_We_ are feeling like shite, thank you very much.' "Um… pretty good considering I just got my face eaten off by the animated corpse of my best friend. What happened?"

The goblin smiled. "We've made you a new man, Mr. Potter. With new powers, strength, capabilities."

Harry blinked. "Wha?"

The goblin shook his head. "Don't worry, we'll explain it all during the testing sequences."

"Testing sequences?" Harry asked, a little worried.

o.O

"Why of course," Fleur said, breasts heaving, "I would do anyzing for Harry!"

The goblin smiled. "Excellent. Now put on this white shirt and step into the next room."

O.o

"So why do I have to wear a white shirt?" Hermione asked crossly. "And how will this help Harry?"

The goblin shook his head, biting back the urge to slap the mouth witch. "Just put on the damn shirt."

With a huff, Hermione reluctantly changed her clothing.

o.O

"You want to test out my temporal watzit?" Harry asked, utterly confounded.

"Your temporal-perceptive dilation unit. It will allow you to perceive time at about five times the speed of an ordinary human."

"Er… right, I can see how that's useful. So, how are we going to test it?"

The goblin smiled, exposing its sharp, pointy teeth. He gestured with one clawed hand, and a curtain moved back, exposing a one-way mirror. Harry's eyes widened as he saw the voluptuous Fleur Delacour pacing slowly back and forth in the room.

"… so how is this supposed to test the unit?" Harry asked.

The goblin's smile widened. With another gesture, a stream of water shot out from the side, spraying Fluer down. Time slowed, letting Harry take in every minute squirm and jiggle.

O.O

Two goblin technicians, one grizzled and the other looking relatively young, scowled at each other.

"Gragcobble, what's the status of the Mr. Stud unit?" The grizzled tech said to his partner.

"Fifty percent and holding," the tech replied.

"Fifty percent!? Is something wrong?" The grizzled tech replied. "Initiate phase two!"

.

Hermione sputtered in protest as the goblin guard 'gently' led her towards an unmarked door. "How is this supposed to help Harry?"

The guard grunted. "Just shut up and get in there," he said, casually tossing her into the room. He slammed the door behind him, grumbling about bossy know-it-alls.

O.O

Hermione barely had time to acknowledge the blond in the room before a blast a freezing cold water plastered her now transparent clothing to her young body. She screamed and writhed, getting tangled up with the Beauxbatons' champion. The collapsed into a pile of heaving, jiggling squeals.

x.x

"Mr. Stud implant at one hundred percent and holding!" The young goblin technician cried out.

The grizzled goblin smiled and nodded. "Mr. Stud. She'll never know."

o.O

Later, after drying herself off, Hermione perused the list of upgrades. "Wait, what's this?" She asked imperiously.

The goblin 'assigned' as her liaison rolled his eyes. "That would be his ultra-high-frequency coherent light optical emission unit."

Hermione boggled. "You gave him laser beam shooting eyes?! Why on earth did you give him laser beam shooting eyes?"

The goblin harrumphed. "We weren't going to originally, but research shows that all fourteen year old boys want laser beam shooting eyes."

"But…" Hermione was interrupted by the goblins sharp bark.

"Are you a fourteen year old boy?" The goblin asked grumpily.

"Well, no, but…"

"Then shut the Hell up."

o.o

"Wait… you mean that I can shoot laser beams from my eyes?" Harry asked, wide eyed.

The goblin healer nodded.

"Wicked!"

x.x

Meanwhile, at the Riddle Mansion, Voldemort was interrogating Snape. "Wait, not only did they rebuild him faster, stronger, better, but he can shoot laser beams from his eyes?"

Snape nodded while bowing and scraping. "Yes, master."

"That's not fair! I got a new body that was faster, stronger, better, but I can't shoot laser beams from my eyes! Snape, this is your fault! _CRUCIO_!" Snape screamed and writhed like the little bitch he was.

A/N: Alright, that's enough of that. Oh, ontology is the study of words, and how they relate to each other. Since spell casting (and therefore enchantment) seems to follow some undisclosed linguistic logic... that and it fit the flow of the monologue.


	15. Plot bunny Hassenpfeffer, anybody?

A/N: Another slightly different take on the 'meets death' challenge by reptillia. This story is most likely dead. Unlike the last story, I re-read this one first. It's not… wonderful… but it should be worth a few chuckles.

Yet again, the idea is free for a good home, send me a message if you want to adopt.

DLP Note: The story has Ron Weasley as a positive character. You've been warned.

* * *

Ronald Weasley woke up in a plain white room. He was sitting on a rather comfortable wooden chair in front of an empty table. At the other side of the table was an empty chair. He blinked. He blinked again.

"Bloody Hell."

The wall across from him parted slightly, revealing a doorway. From the doorway stepped a skeletal figure dressed in tattered brown robes, with large raven's wings protruding from its back. It held an ancient scythe in its bony grasp.

Ronald Weasley blinked again. "Bloody Hell!" He shook his head, feeling vaguely detached from the whole situation. "I'm dead, aren't I? You're Death, aren't you?"

The Grim Reaper nodded its head, walked over to the table, pulled out the chair and sat down across from him. With a whispering voice that echoed with the weight of antiquity it replied, "Yes. Fancy a game of chess?" The Grim Reaper pulled out an ancient wooden box and opened it.

A small grin appeared on Ron's face. "Sure. I mean, I'm dead, right? So it's not like I'm in a hurry to go anywhere, right? I suppose this is going to be revenge for all the times I mercilessly slaughtered Harry."

The Grim Reaper simply set up the chessboard, and the two of them began to play. For a time, the only sounds were the clicking of the pieces, and the soft noises of concentration. Finally, Ron looked up into the empty eye-sockets of Death, and a great smile spread across Ron's face.

"Draw in five?" Ron asked happily.

Death nodded.

"Again?" Ron asked.

Death nodded once more, and the board magically reset itself. The pair set to playing with the simple joy of masters.

* * *

"So, Ronald, any regrets?" Death asked as it considered the next move.

"Yeah, a few." Ron replied.

"What are they?"

"Probably the standard. I wish I'd studied harder in school rather than slacking off. I wish I'd spent more time with my loved ones. I wish I'd made a few better choices about how I spent my life and time, really."

"What would you say your greatest regret is, then?" Death queried.

They played in silence as Ron considered his life.

"Honestly?" Ron asked. Death nodded. "Hermione." Ron said flatly.

Death nodded, and reset the board. "What about Hermione Granger?"

Offhandedly, Ron corrected, "Weasley."

"Til' death do us part, Ronald. It's Granger now."

"Oh, right then." Ron replied.

"So, what do you regret about Hermione Granger?"

Ron looked about nervously. "She's not listening in, right? I mean, even dead and all there'd be Hell to pay…"

"No, she's not listening in." Death wryly reassured Ron

Ron let out a sigh of relief. "Too right then. I really, _really_ wish I'd never married her. Merlin's bouncing bollocks! She's the most irritating, nagging, annoying bint I've ever met! Hormones be damned, sure the sex was great but afterwards…ARGH! The only thing we _ever_ had in common was Harry! It was always 'Harry this, Harry that.' Or 'Harry's an Auror, why are you content with such meaningless things and your stupid gags?' Oh, and my favourite: 'Of course you are good at Quidditch, but you have to think of the both of us, not just yourself. Don't waste our time trying out for the professional leagues. Didn't the war with Voldemort make you grow up? Boys!' I love her, oh I do, but by Merlin I _hate_ her too! What the bloody hell was I thinking? What the bloody hell was _she_ thinking?"

Death shook its head. "Wasn't the dream a big happy Weasley family?"

"Not my dream… Wait, what? What's that got to do with anything?" Ron asked.

"Checkmate." Death replied.

"Hey, no bloody fair using my existential bloody angst to win!"

"My apologies," Ron had the distinct feeling that Death winked at him, even though its face was a bare skull, "but when did you start using words like existential angst?"

Ron shrugged. "I was married to Hermione. It does eventually rub off on a sot."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose it would."

Ron glared at Death. "Don't change the subject on me," Ron grumbled. "What did you mean by the whole big happy Weasley family bit?"

"I'm certain you can figure it out." Death said.

Ron shook his head. "I have no bloody clue."

"Come now, Ronald, none at all?"

"No." Ron replied.

"Think back to your sixth year. Does that help?"

"No."

"It's a memory that involves food, and led to you going to the hospital. Does that make your mind any clearer?" Death said, a little bit of frustration creeping into the hollow voice.

"No."

Death resisted throwing its bony hands into the air in disgust. "Ronald, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yes." Ron said happily.

Death's hissing laughter lightly filled the room. "Ah yes, another one of your tragic flaws. No matter, death is not the time to unlearn all of the foibles of life. You, Ronald, were dosed with low-to-mid-strength love potions almost daily after your second year at Hogwarts."

"What!" Ron cried. "Who the bloody hell did that?"

"Ronald, I already told you," Death answered. "Think about it."

"No. I'm not going to spend one minute thinking about that. I don't want to. If you've already told me, you might as well finish it off now." Ron spat.

Death chuckle rattled like nails in a coffin. "Two of the three most important women in your life conspired against you and the third, Ronald, goaded by the buzzing of a little white bumblebee."

"Eh?" Ron replied clueless.

"…Ronald." Death said flatly.

"Right, right, I get it." Ron shook his head. "Well, some of it. Was I the only one they dosed or hexed?"

"No." Death answered. "Hermione was a fed a steadily increasing dose of potions, during her sixth year; a dosing so severe it's amazing she lived."

"Great heaving bloody bollocks!" Ron exclaimed. "I bet she'd be as honked off at the idea of us together as I am."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Death replied. "So, Ronald, your family offered you up as a sacrificial goat to Hermione Granger. I'm sure you understand the reason why your mother and your sister did what they did. Why, Ronald, would a little white bumblebee aide them?"

"Eh?"

"A white bumblebee. You don't get the reference." Death stated.

"No." Ron confirmed.

Death sighed. "I supposed it is a bit obscure. Albus Dumbledore means white bumblebee."

"Oh, too right then," Ron replied lightly before the statement fully sank in. "Wait, _Dumbledore_ put them up to it?" Ron asked

"You sound surprised." Death said.

Ron's shoulders slumped, and he listlessly played chess while mulling over the revelations, matching them with what he knew from when he lived. Possibilities and puzzles flitted through his mind, forcing Ron to view the entire conflict with You-Know-Who as a sprawling series of chess matches, different people acting as both pieces and players in time, but always, always with Ron as a pawn. His eyes narrowed, and he spit out his answer.

"Damn it! That bloody old bugger used me and Hermione as another bloody leash on Harry! He used me like he used those bloody muggle relatives of Harry's! He knew, he KNEW that me and my brothers would do anything to rescue a mate, hell, we DID! That's why it started after second year! Please, please tell me that he had a hand in the times I was a bloody wanker to Harry?" Ron's eyes were filled with unshed tears, his face filled with desperate pleading.

"I won't lie to you, Ronald, just to make you feel better." Death said solemnly.

Ron slumped further into his chair, his forehead resting against the table's edge.

"Personally, I'm surprised you didn't become Draco Malfoy considering the amount of mystic bile Albus Dumbledore forced into your mind, as well as the frankly repugnant interaction of the potions with adolescent hormones." Death continued.

Ron sat up, a confused look in his face. "Eh? Smaller words mate."

"I thought being married to Hermione rubbed of on you." Death said.

Ron shook his head. "Not that bloody much, thank Merlin. I do have _some_ standards to maintain."

"You were head-fucked into being an utter git." Death deadpanned.

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Ron quipped.

"Yes, yes it was," Death replied.

"So, all those times I was a wanker, it wasn't my fault?"

"No, it wasn't your entire fault. You are, unaided, still a rather jealous and lazy sot."

"Hey, now!"

Death stared at Ron.

"Fine, fine, I can be a right lazy git, yes." Ron mumbled.

"You would have grown out of those traits faster if they hadn't played Merlin with your mind, Ronald. Much, much faster, and with far fewer eruptions. It was not all your doing, no."

Muttering about the unfairness of it all, Ron threw himself into the game. For a few more rounds, they were silent except for calls of "check" and "checkmate."

* * *

Eventually, Ron sat up and grinned. "Well, dick all I can do about that now. What with my being dead and all. When I see ol' Dumbledore's spirit around, I'll give 'em a quick Bludger to the nuts. Speaking of, when can I see George?"

"Ah, therein lays the rub. You can see them anytime, but…" Death trailed off dramatically.

"But? Come on, the suspense is killing me"

"Do you know how many times I've heard that one?" Death asked.

"No." Ron replied.

"Do you want to know?"

"No."

"Good. As I was saying…"

Ron cut Death off. "So, how many times have you heard that one?"

"I thought you didn't want to know."

"Now I'm curious," Ron said with the slightest hint of a whine.

"Too late. As I was saying…"

"Common, tell me already!"

"No." Death deadpanned.

"Please?" Ron begged.

"No." Death replied.

"Not even a hint?"

"Fine. Take all the times that you thought about food, and multiply it by all the times you rubbed one off thinking about Harry."

Ron blinked. "Wow, that's a lot. HEY! How did you know about that?"

"I didn't. Nor did I want to." Death said with disgust.

"Oh." Ron replied sheepishly.

Death waved a bony hand. "Don't feel too bad, most mortals appear to be somewhat indiscriminate. May I continue?"

"Please."

"Thank you," Death continued.

"You're welcome." Ron interjected.

"Stop interrupting me while…"

"Alright."

Death shook its bony head. "…Arse. I'll make this short and simple, so you can understand."

"Hey!" Ron shouted.

"Now will you listen?" Death waited for Ron's nod of assent. "Good. Due to Albus Dumbledore sodding around with powers he cannot understand, I have been given consent to play my own pieces in this divine game. I will send you back to some point in your life with all of your memories and magic intact. In return, you will ensure my timely collection of Tom Riddle's soul, in full. Additionally, you will get my cloak, ring, and wand the hell away from Albus Dumbledore. You will ensure that they fall into the hands of Harry Potter."

"Why Harry?" Ron asked. "He never did tell us."

"A mistake in judgment on my part." Death replied.

"Right, get you the bits of Riddle's soul; get the Deathly Hollows to Potter. That's a pretty tall order, mate." Ron shrugged before continuing. "I mean, the horcruxes won't be too bad, except the cup and the ring. Maybe that damn locket, too. But getting that wand off of Dumbledore? How the bloody hell am I supposed to do that?"

"If you don't get the wand to Harry Potter," Death stated flatly, "Albus Dumbledore will be powerful enough to force his plots forward regardless of your actions."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Great, so I get to go back to being a midget, sneak around breaking Riddle's shite, get the bloody elder wand off of Albus bloody Dumbledore, and then I get to live happily ever after?"

"There is, of course, one last requirement, but I don't think you'll mind." Death replied.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"You will help Harry Potter find his soul mate. You will also help Hermione Granger find hers. No, you are not her soul mate," Death answered before Ron could ask.

"Umm…" Ron looked scared to ask.

"You are not Harry Potter's soul mate either." Death said dryly. Ron let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank Merlin, Morgana, and whoever else the bloody hell sets this up, I'm not going to be married to Hermione again!" Ron crowed. "Exactly when am I going back to being alive?"

"The day before your mother and sister started dosing you with potions. There is an interesting attribute of the Weasley clan that has lain dormant for five hundred years. It will awaken when you return, as it would have had my wand not been used to contain it. Be glad, it will protect you from the potions, and it is something else that you have that your brothers don't. As well, if you bother looking you will find someone to help you with your final task."

Ron nodded. "Alright, I'm ready. How is this going to work?"

"Simple, you will go back when I say you go back. A little advice: Don't be so lazy. Your lack of drive hurt Harry, in far more ways than you imagine. Chess and people are not dissimilar, this time you will have to play both, and well. Don't let other people tell you what you are good enough or not good enough for. If you want something, earn it. Think about your regrets, Ronald, as avoiding them is entirely up to you."

Ron nodded. "Fine, then say I'm going back when this game is over." Ron grinned. "By the way, checkmate you bony buggering bastard."

Death's loud laughter filled Ron's ears as the room faded away.

* * *

Ron woke up to the rumbling noise of the Hogwarts express. He glanced around to see Harry staring sightlessly out of the compartment window. Glancing quickly out the window himself, Ron figured that they were about an hour out of Hogwarts. He shook his head slightly at his friends' youth. 'Damn, we're all midgets again. Thank Merlin Hermione's off to where ever she's off too. Meh, she's probably lecturing some poor first years about something or the other. Better get this started before she shows up, Merlin knows she'll keep Harry from helping, and I really need him for this one.'

"Hey, Harry, what's on your mind?"

Harry jerked up with a start. "Huh? Oh, nothing."

"Pretty strong nothing there, mate. You were pretty out of it."

Harry just looked down. "It's nothing, really. So, what are you going to do for the summer?"

Ron shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. Hey, you upset about going back to your muggle relatives? I mean, there's no house-elf to stop our mail this time, right?"

Harry just shrugged helplessly. "Yeah."

'Alright, rook to L-5.' Ron thought back to something that they had found while pouring through the Black library before the desperate hunt for the bits of Riddle's soul. At the time, they just shook their heads in disgust that such a barbaric custom was still in place, and bemoaned that they could no longer use it to rid themselves of some enemies. 'It's different this time. We can actually do this. Man, I hope I can pull this off, otherwise I have no idea how I'm going to make things better.'

Gathering his resolve, he turned to Harry. "Harry, mate, this is really important, okay? You know we all consider you to be an honorary Weasley, right? Do you feel the same about us?"

Harry smiled a little at this, "Yeah, I do. You're like a brother to me. Sometimes a right prat, but a brother."

"Hey, now!" Ron threw an empty chocolate frog box at Harry. "Seriously though, I need your help. My family has been wronged, my little sister's soul attacked, because of Lucius Malfoy. I'm going to use a custom called Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli."

Harry stared at Ron blankly. Ron waved off Harry's confusion. "It's a wizard thing. It's really old, mate. I found it while Hermione was forcing us to do research for a History of Magic assignment. It can only be used by pure-bloods, so I've gotta be the one to start it. Thing is, I'm not the head of my family, so I need a head of a Most Ancient and Noble house to help me with it. Harry, you're the oldest living male Potter, right? I mean, otherwise Dumbledore couldn't have put you with those muggles?"

Harry shook his head, "Yeah Ron, but that doesn't mean…"

"Look, its good enough, okay?"

Harry nodded his head slowly. "Yeah, Ron, okay, but still, shouldn't we let the Headmaster or your parents take care of this? I mean, I don't want to make your mom any angrier at us than she already is. I don't think she's forgiven the whole flying car thing."

Ron smiled fondly at the memory, faltering slightly at the thought of Fred. 'It's alright though, I mean this time I'll make sure they don't get hurt. Funny, I'm the youngest brother and now I get to take care of them.' Ron's smile widened, then his face became serious. "Come on Harry; did the adults save the Philosopher's Stone? Did the adults discover the secret of the Chamber? Did they save Ginny? Did they even _try_?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Exactly," Ron interjected. "Harry, are you with me on this one? I really need your help, mate, I can't do it without you." Harry stared out the window for a bit before nodding in agreement. "Great! Thanks Harry, you won't regret this." As he said that, Ron thought, 'Or at least you won't live to regret this long.'

Leaning over to Harry, Ron said, "This is what we need to do. First…"

* * *

About thirty minutes passed as Ron made sure that Harry had all of his line memorized in the ritual. Thankfully, they had just started a harmless conversation about the Chudley Cannons when the compartment door opened. Ron barely suppressed a grimace of irritation at Hermione's arrival as she rolled her eyes at their conversation. 'Dammit, I forgot she was even more judgemental about us when she was younger.' She sat down next to Harry and immediately interrupted the conversation to discuss the pair's study habits over the summer.

"So, Harry, Ronald, I've made up these colour-coded study planners…" Hermione kept rambling on in her imperious tone.

Ron tried to keep himself calm, but the constant high-pitched nagging began to wrench his nerves. All he wanted was to curl up into a ball, or better yet, chuck her right out of the window. 'Oh Merlin what the HELL was I thinking when I married her. I swear, if she doesn't shut up right bloody now… I can't take it anymore!'

"…after all, the O.W.L.s will be here before you know it! As I like to say, doing your homework now means…"

Ron's frayed temper snapped. "Hermione, we just got out of school. Can you lay off of it for the train ride out?"

"Ronald Weasley, you know that if I don't remind the both of you as often as I can that you will never get anything done!" Hermione snapped.

"Bloody hell woman, when did we sign you up for the mother position? I don't recall advertising for a new one!" Ron shouted.

"Well, if you didn't act like you needed one, I wouldn't have to fill in, would I?" Hermione shot back.

"You don't have to fill in anyhow!"

"Yes I do!" Hermione screamed. "If you had one iota of ambition in life I wouldn't have to try and beat it into you!"

"Maybe if it wasn't for your constant nagging I would have ambition!"

"So now you're blaming me for your tragic laziness and ineptitude?"

"Well you blame me for everything, why shouldn't I get a shot?" Ron retorted.

"You never earned a shot!" Hermione shouted. "If you just applied yourself maybe you could achieve your dreams!"

"My dreams, MY dreams," Ron hollered, his voice growing louder with every word. "Why the bloody hell do you think they are my dreams! If you ask me you're just nagging me into your bloody dreams!"

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!! AREN'T THEY SUPPOSED TO BE SHARED DREAMS!? OR ARE YOU CONTENT TO SIT AROUND AND WASTE YOUR LIFE?!"

"I THINK I'VE ALREADY PRETTY MUCH ASSURED THAT, DON'T YOU?!"

"WELL IF YOU WOULD EVER BLOODY WELL TRY MAYBE YOU WOULDN'T HAVE!"

"DAMNIT I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN SCREAM AT A FROTHING FRIGID WITCH!" Ron grabbed his shocked male friend, and shoved him at the screaming Hermione. "HARRY, SHUTTER UP!" Ron flung himself out of the compartment, slamming the door behind him. Hermione's outraged screeching continued inside. "Colloportus! Silencio!" Ron took great shuttering breaths, and then leaned against the opposite wall. He slowly slid down, a look of bliss crossing his features. "Finally, some bloody silence." A muffled cough reminded him he wasn't alone. Ron turned his head to see Draco Malfoy flanked by his goonish companions. The three wore identical looks of shock.

"What?" Ron snapped.

Malfoy just slowly shook his head, and then began to clap. A second later Crabbe and Goyle began to applaud as well. A few seconds later, more applause came from behind Malfoy and company. Ron looked up to see his twin brothers, and he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

"Well, Draco and gibbons, I believe that…"

"A private family conversation is in order, right?"

Draco nodded, terrified of the pairs' possible pranking, and fled to another car.

Fred and George each grabbed one of Ron's arms and hauled him up. The pair of them ruffled his hair, and said simultaneously, "It looks like ickle Ronnikins' balls have dropped! Oh what a momentous occasion! So, what does our little brother want for his ball-dropping-day present?"

"A bloody stiff drink wouldn't hurt." Ron grumbled to himself.

"A splendid suggestion! Well, I see a bottle…"

"… of Ogden's Finest is in order, wouldn't you say Fred?"

"Indeed I would, George. Indeed I would."

Ron let loose a deep belly laugh, and let himself be happily dragged to another compartment by his brothers. 'Dammit Fred, I forgot how much I missed you, the both of you together,' Ron thought. 'I won't let you down, guys, now it's my turn.'

* * *

A few hours later, Ron staggered back to his compartment. Hermione was studiously ignoring him, focusing on reading large tome. Harry sat closely beside her; face pale, clothing rumpled and eyes wide enough to see the whites all the way around his irises. Harry held a third year charms textbook open in his hands, blank eyes staring at the words.

After waiting three minutes for Harry to turn a page, Ron said, "Hey, Harry, mate, you alright there?" Harry's eyes flicked from Ron to Hermione and back again. Ron flushed until his face matched his hair. "Sorry 'bout that mate. Some row, wasn't it, you look even more rumpled than usual." Harry nodded his head rapidly. 'She put the poor little bugger in shock,' Ron mused unhappily. 'Merlin, even his clothes look blown around.'

Ron decided to rescue his friend. "Harry, mate, why don't we play a quick game of Exploding Snap?"

Still looking dazed, Harry stood up slightly to get his deck of cards. Before he was half-way to his feet, Hermione's hand flashed out and grabbed Harry's colour. Ron swore he heard it break the sound barrier. Skittishly, Harry's eyes twitched over to meet Hermione's. She growled, ever so softly, not changing her expression in the least. Shaking like a spanked puppy Harry sat back down, their legs touching. Ron winced as he noticed the book trembling in his best friend's hand. A moment later, Hermione released Harry's collar, patted him lightly on the head, and then flipped the page. Harry gulped. The tiniest of smiles graced Hermione's face before vanishing. Harry let out a shuddering sigh of relief. She growled softly again. Harry squeaked and buried his nose in the text book.

Ron shook his head at the whole thing, thinking, 'Merlin's bouncing balls between Morgana's mammoth mammaries I pity the poor buggering sot that winds up as _her_ soul mate! Oh why oh why did I ever marry her. Oh, right, I remember, potions. Bloody well going to make sure _that_ doesn't happen again.'

Ron quickly dug through his trunk and pulled out a scuffed up copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Eventually the soothing sounds of the train tracks, Hermione's intermittent brief growls and Harry's responding terrified squeaks lulled him into a restful slumber.

* * *

Ron steeled himself for what was going to come next. If he didn't do this right, a lot more than just his own life would be forfeit, but if this move played right, he would definitely force Dumbledore's king out into the open, and maybe make this round a draw. The trio gathered their trunks and animals from the train.

Ron let Harry exit the train first, followed by himself and then Hermione. Hermione seemed to find exactly what she was looking for, and rushed ahead of the pair. Ron scanned the crowds for a familiar head of long blond hair, and was rewarded by finding Lucius quickly. "Harry, we need to get within fifteen paces of him before my parents notice me. Give me your wand, like we agreed. Common mate, you know mines broken." Harry winced, but grudgingly handed over his wand.

Rushing and pushing through the crowds, they luckily avoided Molly Weasley's eagle eye long enough to approach Lucius Malfoy. Draco was still making his way through the crowd when the pair got close enough to start.

'Well, it's now or never,' Ron thought. He screwed his face up into a mask of immature rage.

"LUCIUS MALFOY! I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, of the Pure-Blood House of Weasley, do call Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli upon the House of Malfoy! As is my right by blood, I do call Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli upon the House of Malfoy. As is my right by blood, I do call Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli upon the Gwenwynwyr Lucius Malfoy!" A boiling rumble of static began to thrum around the pair with each word, startling both the crowd and the participants. All heads turned to stare at the boys, some in shock, some in horror.

From the crowd, Molly Weasley's voice cried out frantically, "Ron, NO!"

Harry echoed his friend. "LUCIUS MALFOY! I, Harry James Potter, head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, do support the scion of Weasley in his cry for Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli! As is my right by blood, I do second the call of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli upon the House of Malfoy! As is my right by blood, I do second the call of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli upon the Gwenwynwyr Lucius Malfoy." At the end of his speech, a dull red glow surrounded the three. The power of the ritual surged higher, drowning out the noise of the people surrounding them. Unconsciously, those closest to the boys and Malfoy backed away.

Ron steeled himself for the next part. "For the cost of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli: Offrymu gwirioneddau!" The dull red glow flashed purple against Ron's skin.

Harry gave his next line, "For the cost of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli: Offrymu eneidiau rhwymedig nodau!" The dull red glow flashed purple against Harry's skin.

Lucius Malfoy stared at the pair in shock. He could not believe the boys' stupidity. They had just given him the right to slaughter them in broad daylight, without a single repercussion, as well as the right to slaughter the entire Weasley clan afterwards. Worse yet, if he understood the Weasley brat's sacrifice correctly, refusing the duel would magically make his involvement with the diary affair an undeniable public fact. The Potter boy's sacrifice for the ritual confused him, but he suspected it had something to do with the knowledge that Lucius was a willing Death Eater. 'No matter,' Lucius thought to himself, 'if I agree, the magic will destroy the sacrifices. This is going to be most enjoyable. I get to kill the entire Weasley clan and the Potter brat, and hide my own involvement in the affair for all time. Perhaps I'll give the youngest Weasley to Draco as a plaything.' Lucius smiled wickedly. "I accept."

The dull red luminescence surrounding Lucius flared black. A translucent silver barrier erupted from the ground about the three, and then slowly expanded until there were thirty paces on each side, forcing back the crowd. Crackling with cerulean energy, Harry began to rise, until he was floating fifteen feet above Lucius and Ron.

"I am selected by magic. I am Harry Potter no longer. I am the Arbitrator." Although Harry's mouth spoke the words, the voice was the echo of power and ages. "Let all hear my words! By the covenant of the founders, by the agreement of blood, where now stand two, there may only stand one! By the nature of the challenge, by the nature of the challengers, if the House of Weasley falls, so falls Potter! The sin against blood has been committed! The sacrifices against blood have been taken! As it has been written upon the fabric of magic, let this matter be finished! Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli must complete, let no being deny it! Make ready!"

Lucius sneered at his red-headed opponent. "You are a fool Weasley, and I shall enjoy destroying you and your family." He didn't set himself into a duellist's stance, rather he lazily raised his wand while smiling contemptuously down at Ron.

Ron glared at Lucius, and tried to keep his stance looking like an inexperienced boy's. 'Please, please, please let him decide to play around with me. Oh man oh man if he actually takes me seriously I could be so screwed.'

From Harry's lips came the cry, "BEGIN!"

Ron immediately dove to the left of Malfoy, aimed Harry's wand at Lucius's head, and screamed, "_REDUCTO_!" A great purple beam of light erupted from Harry's wand, crackling with unleashed power. Startled, Lucius attempted to cast a hasty protective spell, but the bolt smashed through his shield without pausing.

Lucius Malfoy's head exploded like a Hefty bag full of vegetable soup. Ron stared incredulously as the ex-head of the Malfoy family slumped limply to the ground. "Well, um, that was unexpected."

In the same unearthly voice, Harry called out, "Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli has been claimed in the eyes of magic! Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli has been claimed by victory! So mote it be! By right of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli, Ronald Bilius Weasley is head and heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy! By right of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli is no longer scion of the House of Weasley, but is the head and heir of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy! So mote it be! All that was Lucius Malfoy let now be owned by Ronald Weasley! For the crime committed has been avenged, let none grieve the fallen! As was written into magic by the founders, let no man or magic deny! As was written into magic by blood, let no man or magic deny! The penalty of Cyhoedd drwg gwaed cyfantoli has been placed!"

Harry glared at the crowd for a few more minutes with his glowing blue eyes before slowly lowering to the ground. His eyes dimmed, until they were back to his usual green. He turned to his friend. "You've really done it now, mate. You've become a bloody Malfoy."

Ron blinked. Ronald blinked again. In a stunned tone, he said, "That, I was not expecting." He walked over to the headless corpse, and stared at it numbly. Shrugging, he picked up Malfoy's wand, and handed Harry's back to him. "I guess that's that, then."

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! I DON'T CARE WHAT THE MINISTRY, MAGIC OR MERLIN HIMSELF SAYS, YOU ARE SO GROUNDED YOUNG MAN!!" Molly's screams made themselves heard over the crowd.

Harry looked at Ron. "Yeah, that's that." He said with a grin.

Ron groaned, and turned to face his mother.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy knew the moment her husband died that her family's course had changed. Dispassionately she recalled every argument she'd had with Lucius over his support of the Dark Lord. A faint smile crossed her lips as she thought 'I told you so.' Walking to the grand library, she pulled out the Malfoy book of genealogy, and gasped in shock as she saw that the new Lord Malfoy was not her son, but rather one of the many Weasley children. 'So, it appears now that our fortunes are tied to the fall of the Dark Lord, rather than his ascension. I must speak with my son.'

Narcissa decided that the sooner she set her boy straight, the better their chances. "Pocky!" A house elf appeared bowing and scraping.

"Mistress calls Pocky, what can Pocky do for Mistress?" The bedraggled elf whimpered.

"First, you must tell my son to meet me in the parlour. Then, you will clean yourselves up. I never agreed with Lucius about how he treats the help, and I rather doubt the new Lord Malfoy will care either way. I expect you to be in clean uniforms and healthy. You are to do as you see fit, do not bother me with the intricacies of your care and feeding. Is that understood?"

"Yes Mistress, Pocky understands." With a faint pop, the elf vanished. Narcissa made her way to the parlour and waited for her son. A few minutes later Draco walked into the room, the picture of depression.

"You wanted to see me mommy?" Draco asked, with a slight whine in his voice.

Narcissa gathered her son into a comforting maternal hug. "Now Puff, dearest, I'm afraid that we're going to have to make some very important changes if we want the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy to survive. Isn't that what we do, Puff, survive?"

"Yes, mum, but you don't understand! I saw him do wandless magic! He hates me mum, and he's a Weasley, one of the dirty poor blood-traitor Weasley's! Between him and Potter, they'll bankrupt the house and ruin us for sure!"

"Draco Malfoy! With the way you are acting and what Severus has told me, if they destroy our house it will only have hastened the inevitable!" Draco winced at his mother's scolding tone. "Now, Puffie-kins, Lucius made some very stupid decisions, in a most un-Slytherin manner. Morgana knows I've let him ruin your training enough, so I'm as much to blame as him. Prove you mummy wrong, Puffie-kins, and tell me how we are going to survive, and even thrive, given these new circumstances?"

"Um, well, he hasn't had enough time to write a will, so we could hire one of Lucius' old associates to kill him." Draco looked up at his mother with a gleeful expression.

"Draco Malfoy, while half of you came from Lucius, there should be more than enough of my blood in your veins to keep you at least moderately intelligent! To hear such stupidity from my only child! You disappoint your mother." She wagged her finger in Draco's face, her tone scathing. The gleeful expression collapsed into one of utter despair. "Oh, Puffie-kins, you know I still love you, even if you say stupid things, but you don't have the luxury to make mistakes like that, not now. Come on, mummy loves you." She cuddled her son for a bit, and kissed him tenderly on the top of his head. "Now that you've embarrassed yourself, think this over and tell me what you can of our situation. Slytherin dearest, cold-blooded and cunning like the snake."

Draco sat in his mother's embrace for a while, trying to apply all the lessons of Salazar. He knew his mother demanded the proper base for a plot, and in a flash of self-depreciation Draco realized he'd be as lax as the Weasley in his study habits. The thought disgusted him, redoubling his efforts. "Alright, I know he's a powerful wizard, I mean I did see him do wandless magic. He might not be completely tainted by the mu… muggle-born, I heard them screaming at each other. So, if we convince him that being a noble pure-blood isn't a bad thing, and help him against the Dark Lord, he should start to see us as allies instead of enemies. He is powerful, so maybe he can win against the Dark Lord, which means that some of the glory will pass onto the Malfoy name."

Narcissa hugged her son tightly. "Oh very good! So what are you going to do when he comes to Malfoy manor?"

"I'm going to apologize to him for past slights, and swear my loyalty to the new head of house, as a proper Malfoy."

"That's right son. If we do this right, we'll be just fine. After all, Puffie-kins, we both know that Gryffindors need all the help they can get when it comes to politics, power and wealth. We'll make sure our new Lord Malfoy gets all the help he needs, and keep the family strong."

* * *

Ron sat sullenly at the kitchen table, despondently shoving food into his mouth. His mother hadn't stopped yelling at him since they left the platform. With skills gained from long painful years of living with his mother and then his wife, Ron tuned out the screaming while making the appropriate contrite noises. 'Eeesh, leave one an' I get the other. I wonder how Harry's doing.'

* * *

Harry sat at the dinner in a state of shock. His uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia were glaring at him as they served another portion of beef onto his plate. "Well boy? Eat up!" Vernon grumbled at him. 'This is just weird,' Harry thought, as he dug into his meal. He chewed slowly as the car-ride back from Platform 9 and 3/4 filled his memory.

Vernon was scowling at him when his cousin Dudley grabbed Harry's trunk from his hands. "Oh, this is good and heavy! Great!" Harry's jaw dropped as Dudley then heaved the trunk over his head and carried it to the boot of the car. In a state of shock, Harry got into the back seat under his uncle's glaring eye. As the car drove off, Harry was further driven into disbelief when his whale of a cousin started ordering Vernon and Petunia about how they'd treat Harry over the summer.

"Now don't forget, we're gonna haveta feed Harry here three times a day plus protein rich snacks, just like me." Vernon started cursing softly under his breath, but agreed. Harry turned to Dudley dumbfounded. "Too right, Harry," his cousin said with a wide smile, "I'm gonna be a champion. I'm gonna be a contender, I'm gonna _be_ somebody. I can't do that without a workout partner, and I can't do that with a piss-poor slip like you. So you get to eat up and bulk up with me, cuz I'm gonna be the greatest ever." As Dudley said those words, Harry noticed a strength and drive in his cousin's gaze completely opposing the normal bovine dullness. He grew even more surprised when his cousin leaned over and whispered, "Don't you worry cousin, I'll take care of you like you took care of me." He patted Harry's shoulder affectionately. "You and me, we're family, and from now on you'll know it."

Harry returned to the present when he asked for more juice. Dudley reached over and filled Harry's glass. For the first time ever, Harry smiled happily at his cousin, and his cousin smiled happily back at him.

"Don't get too comfortable there partner, you're going to hate me in the morning. We go jogging at six-thirty sharp!" Harry groaned, and his cousin laughed. Vernon and Petunia just scowled, but whatever their precious Duddiekins wants, their Duddiekins gets.

* * *

Ron blearily slumped his way downstairs, following the smell of breakfast. Scarcely cognizant, he reached for a glass of juice. "Ronald Weasley! That is your sister's juice! Your glass is to the right." his mother called out. Mumbling apologies, Ron grabbed the aforementioned glass and took a solid swig. The taste was akin to slug vomit mixed with a healthy dosing of kneezle excrement. He spat it back into the glass and swallowed bile. Fully awake, he stared wide-eyed at the offending drink.

"Mum, I know you're still mad at me and all, but don't you think making my juice taste like one of Madam Pomfrey's potions is a bit much?"

Molly Weasley paled for a second but quickly regained her composure. "I don't know what you are talking about! Are you insulting my cooking?"

Ron waved his hands in a warding gesture. "No, no mum, even that greasy git Snape couldn't insult your cooking. I'm sure he'd try, though." Molly snorted at that, and gave her husband a ghost of an ironic smile. Ron continued on, "It's gotta be the twins. _Vino Vinculum_!" Arthur and Molly gasped simultaneously. Arthur stared in shock as his son successfully cast a spell without a wand, and Molly goggled at the fact that the juice turned a glowing shade of purple. Ron shook his head and shouted, "Damn it Gred, Forge, don't spike your defenseless brother's drink! Try a new blend; this one tastes like Hagrid's arse! Okay, I've GOT to know what you guys tried to turn me into. _Reperius Impetrae_!"

The spell caused purple smoke to waft from the glass. The smoke coalesced into a series of runes that floated above the juice. Ron stared in mute horror at the runes, recalling the conversation he'd had with Death. "Mum… mum _no_! How could you! I though we were _family_!" Eyes burning, Ron ran to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of powder from the jar on the mantle. "Malfoy Manor!" As the green flames swept him away, he heard his father's voice. "Molly, what have you done?"

* * *

Narcissa's jumped, startled by the sudden flare from the fireplace. Before she could draw her wand to hex the intruder, she noticed the intruder was a boy her son's age, dressed in a hideously orange t-shirt with a Chuddley Cannons logo on the front. The intruder had bright red hair that clashed horribly with his outfit, and a look of desperate betrayal in his eyes. She flicked her eyes to her son, who nodded.

"Lord Malfoy?" she asked quietly. The boy nodded, curtly. "Is everything alright?" The boy stared through her, tightly shaking his head. Narcissa noticed the muscles on either side of his jaw were tense, and his eyes were shimmering. At a loss, she looked to her son, but Draco returned her confused expression.

A tense silence lingered until Ron muttered, "I really need to hit something." Draco nodded, and beckoned Ron out of the room. The pair left, red haired boy following the blond boy. After a few minutes Draco returned. Narcissa looked at her son with a raised eyebrow. "Mum, he's really pissed. I took him to the fencing room. He should work it out in there." Narcissa shook her head. 'Boys,' she thought, 'the same no matter what family they come from.'

"Draco," she said, "After our Lord Malfoy is done can you think of anything to make him more comfortable?"

Draco grinned. "He's a Weasley, mum. Get a big breakfast ready for him. Food heals all."

Narcissa laughed a bit. "Not just Weasley boys, dear." Draco's stomach growled at the mention of food, and Narcissa couldn't keep herself from sweeping her boy into a motherly hug. "All boys your age do love to eat." Draco had the modesty to blush slightly. "Come along to the kitchen, dear. I'll set the elves to fixing us a larger breakfast, and send them off to collect our Lord after his exertions."

* * *

Ron stomped into the parlor guided by the sweet smell of breakfast. Seated at the table were Draco and Narcissa; they were obviously waiting on his arrival. Ron slumped into the chair, and shoveled food onto his plate. He then immediately began stuffing his mouth with as much as it could fit, not even bothering to discern between entrees. Narcissa's eyes narrowed at his atrocious manners. "Lord Malfoy?" she asked quietly.

"Mrphmegh?" Ron replied, a bit of food falling from his still-full mouth.

Narcissa's face hardened, her eyes like polished flint. "Lord Malfoy, such manners are not acceptable in a man of your station."

Ron swallowed, and glared at her. He may look like a child, but he was adult and wouldn't put up with nagging, especially now that he was no longer married to a hyper-sensitive bitch. He braced for the expected screaming tirade, but Narcissa simple stared silently. The icy calm stare made shivers crawl up Ron's spine, and he had to fight off the urge to crawl under a rock. Narcissa held her stare. Finally Ron broke, looking down at his plate. "Yes ma'am."

Narcissa smiled. "Good. I expect you will not continue your previous behavior?"

"No ma'am," Ron replied. 'Sweet Merlin. I'm used to Mum and Hermione screaming but that glare is plain bloody terrifying. No wonder Draco always has good manners, even in school. Oh no, I know that look in her eyes, she knows she's won.'

"Good. Now, I'm not going to say anything about how dreadfully poorly you must have been raised," 'You just did.' Ron thought as Narcissa continued, "but now that you are the Lord Malfoy you will act as befits your station. As Lord Malfoy, everything you do reflects upon the honor and dignity of your Most Noble and Ancient House. What reflects upon your house reflects upon me, and never will it be said that the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy cavorts in a crude and undignified manner. Is that understood?"

Ron nodded sullenly. "Yes ma'am." 'I knew I had a spine around here somewhere, what happened to it?' Ron thought sady.

"Excellent. I suppose you know the rules of formal etiquette?"

He shook his head no.

"You poor man," Narcissa said quietly, "how terribly limiting. Whatever was your mother thinking, raising such an uncultured child. Well, no matter, we can correct this. Do you know how to dance?"

Ron paled. "N-No ma'am." He looked over to see Draco gloating silently with absolute amusement.

"I shall sign you up for formal lessons on etiquette and dancing at once." Draco's face managed to look even more gleeful and smug. "I will assume that you will allow my son to accompany you, as he also needs formal training." Narcissa's request caused Draco to drop the smile and pale, while Ron gave a faint grin at Draco's distress.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I would never prevent your son from learning what he needs to support the dignity of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy." Ron said with great relish.

Draco scowled at Ron. Ron smiled smugly back. The three continued to eat breakfast, with Ron struggling to follow the many stern corrections to his table manners. Finally, the meal concluded. Narcissa motioned for her son to leave the room. Draco nodded to both Ron and his mother, and left.

"Lord Malfoy," Narcissa said in a soft voice, "I was not expecting your company quite this early in the morning. Is there anything you would like to talk about?"

Ron was stunned by the sympathy in her voice, and almost began to tell her about the morning. He stopped at the last second, unwilling to air a family dispute with a relative stranger. "No, it's a Weasley matter. I'll deal with it later." Ron choked back a few tears, and composed himself. "We do need to talk. Where do your loyalties lie?"

Narcissa nodded and replied in a solemn tone, "My loyalties are to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy."

"I knew that," Ron said, biting back the bile in his words. "What I meant is: Are you loyal to Voldemort?" Narcissa gave a shuddering gasp when Ron said the word.

"Are… Are you loyal to You-Know-Who, Lord Malfoy?" Narcissa asked quietly.

"Never," Ron spat, "and I never will be."

"Then that is your answer. I, Narcissa Malfoy, do swear upon my life and magic that I shall never knowingly serve the one called Lord Voldemort." A white glow surrounded her validating the oath. Ron stared, shocked.

Narcissa smiled at Ron's flabbergasted expression. "Yes, Lord Malfoy, a Slytherin can be quite direct when it is called for. I did not lie to you; the House of Malfoy rises and falls with its Lord. Now that Lucius," she spat out the name with distaste, "has been held accountable for his crimes, the Malfoy fortunes are dependant on the fall of You-Know-Who, rather than his success."

'Wow. That makes things a lot easier on me,' Ron thought. 'Who'da thunk it.' "What are your opinions on pure-blood supremacy, then?" Ron asked.

Narcissa inhaled, she had been hoping to avoid this question. For a moment, she debated honesty or duplicity. Finally she settled on honesty, hoping that the classic Gryffindor love of honesty would temper his reactions to her words. "I will not lie. I loath muggles. I think they are dirty, nasty and lowly creatures bent on destroying the bounty the earth has given them. I do not approve of them and I do not want to be around them. I believe in the power and dignity of family. It is not the blood that makes muggle-borns and half-bloods weak; it is the lack of a full wizarding family with centuries of history and power. I remember Lily Evans from Hogwarts, a bright and powerful witch. She proved that family is not a requirement for ability. I would be very disappointed in my son if he married a muggle-born, because he has only brought one person into the family, instead of many. Additionally, I could not stand to be about my in-laws. Do I believe wizards and witches should control the muggle world? Yes, I do, muggles do a poor enough job of it on their own, but I fear the cost to the magical world. Better to stay separate. Do I believe muggles should be exterminated? Ridiculous, there are entirely too many of them and as long as our worlds stay apart I am perfectly happy leaving them alone. Do I believe that muggle-borns and half-bloods should be forbidden education and jobs? That is both stupid and hypocritical. For a tree to grow, a seed must be planted in the mud. Does that answer your question, Lord Malfoy?"

Ron let out a long, slow whistle. He ruminated on her words for a couple of minutes, and then reluctantly nodded. "I think I can appreciate, if not fully agree, with that. I hope that you will convince your son to follow your views closer than the Death Eater worshipping garbage he spouts off all over Hogwarts."

Narcissa stiffened at Ron's assessment of her son's behavior in school. "I'm sorry, Lord Malfoy, could you please repeat what you just said? Am I to understand that my son has been acting in a manner ill befitting his house?"

Ron looked at her puzzled. "You mean stating how he hoped that the Chamber of Secrets would open and kill all the mud-bloods? You mean his constant taunting of Hermione Granger, a muggle-born who is always at the top of her class? Or are you saying the fact that he often calls other students mud-bloods in public spaces would be acting in a manner ill befitting his house?"

Narcissa's eyes narrowed into slits, her mouth a tight thin line. "Damn his father," Narcissa hissed, "for almost ruining our son." Her features relaxed some. "The matter shall be resolved immediately. My son will not embarrass the house further. Is there anything else I can do for you Lord Malfoy?"

Ron nodded. "Yes, there is." Ron smiled at Narcissa. "I will assume that you also have the ear of the minister of magic?"

She looked at Ron appraisingly. "I do."

"Will you be willing to aid the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, your former house, in correcting a grave injustice?"

Narcissa paused for a second. "I will," she answered firmly. "What is this about?"

Ron smiled in triumph. "You see, Mrs. Malfoy, there is a certain rat…"

A few hours later, with a trip back to the Burrow for Scabbers and a few carefully written notes to the ministry, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black held a small cage containing a madly scrambling rodent. Ron smiled as Wormtail desperately attempted to find a way around the best locking charms that Narcissa and her house elves could apply. Narcissa walked to the fireplace, pausing before grabbing the floo powder. "Oh, Lord Malfoy? While I'm at the ministry I will arraign your etiquette and dance lessons." For a single moment, Ron felt married again, utterly trapped and hopeless. He gave Wormtail the smallest of sympathetic glances. Then with a flash of green and a cry of "The Ministry of Magic" Narcissa was gone.

'Knight to B-7.' Ron thought coldly, plotting his next move.

* * *

The next few weeks passed Ron by in a frenzied blur. Between the etiquette lessons, dance lessons, fencing lessons and Narcissa's constant critique of his poise and speech Ron felt like his head was going to explode. Although the ministry released and exonerated Sirius Black the same day that Narcissa took Wormtail to the ministry, Sirius' mental state required weeks of recovery in the Malfoy's private clinic. One bright note occurred after Ron flat out ordered Narcissa to contact Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks: The pair managed to collide, quite literally, into each other during their first visit, and Sirius taunted the two of them into a date. Narcissa pretended to not be amused as she relayed the story back to Ron, her lips barely twitching into a smile at how the nurses commented that Sirius's recovery seemed to be progressing much faster after the incident. He still chucked when he remembered Narcissa's dry comment: "I'm certain they can measure Sirius's recovery by the number of nurses suddenly ordering prophylactics."

A stern cough yanked Ron out of his musings into the present. He swallowed a grumble and returned to his task of writing a love poem in the classical wizarding triune stanza. 'Bloody poetry! I can hear Hermione's voice now. "It's about time," she'd nag, all bloody full of herself. I bet she's got her bushy head buried in a book of hoity-toity poetry right now,' Ron thought in disgust.

* * *

Hermione sighed contentedly and rolled over to let her front soak up the ocean-side sun. 'Mmmm… I love France. I get to relax on the beach and I don't have to worry about those pesky tan lines.'

* * *

Ron tried to not flinch at his burly dance partner. He didn't know how they managed to breed a woman more manly than Millicent Bullstrode, but here she was clutching him tightly enough to make his ribs creak. 'Oi! If I'm suffering like this I hate to think what poor Harry's got to deal with. I bet it's nothing like this!'

* * *

Harry glared, for the hundredth time, at his cousin. 'I feel like such an idiot. I'm glad Ron can't see me like this, I'd never live it down,' he thought in disgust.

"Aw, common Harry, this is part of Arnold Schwarzenegger's body buildin' lessons. It promotes better flexibility and coordination while tonin' alla the muscles of your body!" said Dudley.

"Fine, Dudders, I'll buy that," Harry growled at his cousin, "but why are we wearing these bloody pink tights?"

Dudley shrugged. "Dunno, I guess its part o' the ballet uniform. Instructor wouldn't let us into the lesson without 'em."

"I hate you, Dudders. I really do."

"Shut up and help me with my pirouette."

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I have the rest pretty much plotted out, but I never did get around to finishing it off. Probably never will, but who knows.


	16. I wrote fluff? WTF!

A/N: I didn't mean to… I really didn't. But somehow… in the midst of typing out a little idea… I wrote fluff.

Me.

Fluff.

Ugh.

* * *

Garglecrank rubbed his clawed hands together with glee. This was his absolute favorite part of his job as a Gringotts Account Manager. He smiled toothily at the young man sitting across the desk from him. Even better, the young man was accompanied by his closest female companions. He internally cackled with unholy glee.

"Mr. Potter," Garglecrank began, "I brought you here today to discuss the consequences of your actions," he spat out the word, "earlier this year." He glared at Harry and his bushy-haired companion. They both cringed. "Seeing as how Miss Granger does not have a vault with us, am I correct in assuming that you are willing to assume the full penalties for your actions?" Garglecrank noted that Miss Granger was most displeased with Harry's immediate agreement. "Very well. Due to the... extenuating circumstances surrounding your actions, Gringotts has decided to forgo any further actions against you so long as you are willing to compensate the bank for the full damages." Garglecrank smirked inside. The accounting department, having heard about Mr. Potter's likely actions, had already drafted the bill. His smile widened at Harry's terse nod. "Excellent. I assume you wish to know your new balance?" Garglecrank frowned at Harry's impassive shrug. He noted that the red-haired female seemed rather put-out, but his bushy-haired companion merely whispered something into Mr. Potter's ear.

"Alright," Harry said after nodding to Hermione, "I don't have any secrets between these two. Go ahead and tell me."

Garglecrank smiled. He couldn't wait to see the crushing despair fall over Mr. Potter once he found out how little of his inheritance was left after the damages. The best part of it all: The bank bought the dragons and the materials from wizards, who promptly deposited all that beautiful gold back with Gringotts. Garglecrank said another silent prayer of thanks to the brilliance of bygone Chieftains. "After totaling the damages and assessing the proper fees, you are left with fifty galleons, seventeen sickles and..." he paused dramatically, "twenty-two knuts."

Garglecrank nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise over Harry's reaction. He wasn't an expert in human facial behavior, but he'd crushed quite a few dreams in his day, and he was absolutely positive that the happy smile on the young mans face wasn't a sign of misery. He glanced at Harry's companions. Miss Granger seemed almost... amused. He almost gave a sigh of relief at the red-headed girl's reaction. 'Ah, now THERE'S the crushing misery I wanted!' The goblin thought with relish. 'Perhaps she's the only one who understands the fiscal difficulties Mr. Potter now faces?'

Harry smiled. "Is that all then?" Harry asked, happily (and oblivious to Ginny's horrified demeanor).

Garglecrank grimaced. "Mr. Potter, perhaps you don't understand exactly what this means..."

Harry shrugged. "Sure I do. It means I'm poor, and I'll have to work for a living." He said contentedly.

Hermione smiled, adding in "Just like everybody else, right Harry?" Harry beamed back at her.

"Exactly," he concluded happily.

Garglecrank felt a sickening weight settle in his gut. 'He... he doesn't care?' The teller thought in horror. He looked at the red-headed girl, desperate for some sanity. Happily, she seemed far more grounded than the other two lunatics.

"Harry..." Ginny said slowly, shakily. "Harry... how can you be so calm?"

Harry blinked. He stared at Ginny like she'd grown a second head, and a rather hideous one at that. "What do you mean, Ginny? It's just money."

"Just money," Ginny echoed dumbly. Garglecrank couldn't help but agree. "Just money," she began to screech. "Harry, this is horrible! What about my... I mean our dreams? How are we going to have a happy life together when, when... oh Harry this is terrible!"

Harry's face screwed up in displeasure. "Ginny, I can't believe I'm hearing you say this. Look at your parents, they don't money, they have love."

"Love doesn't buy me diamonds!" Ginny screeched. "Love doesn't pay for vacations or nice furniture or the latest fashions!" Garglecrank nodded along with her. It was a breath of refreshing sanity in a floundering sea of misplaced priorities.

Harry looked utterly disgusted. "Is that how you really feel?" He asked quietly.

Garglecrank perked up. He'd heard wizards use that tone of voice. Maybe he'd get some delicious suffering after all!

Ginny, on the other hand, was oblivious. "Of course it is!" She screeched. "Who's going to pay for our wedding now? I've planned it since I was a child! We were going to have hundreds of guests, the most beautiful catering and decorating, it was going to be the most talked about event ever, like some sort of dream come to life! How can you hope to provide for me now?" Ginny continued to rant, working herself into a greater and greater frenzy. Garglecrank nearly started to dance a jaunty little jig at the shock, horror and sheer agony painted on Harry's face.

"Thank you for telling me how you really feel," Harry said stonily. "I don't think you'll have to worry about how I'm going to pay for your wedding anymore. We are through." He stood up, and bowed to Garglecrank. "Thank you for your time, Garglecrank. I must say this meeting has been most... enlightening."

"The pleasure was all mine," Garglecrank said honestly. "One more thing," he said, pulling a small box out from his desk. "We found this in Dumbledore's vault. Evidently it was misplaced during the will reading." Ginny's eyes grew wide with hope. Harry opened the box, and chuckled at the brightly coloured woolen socks inside. He glanced at Hermione, and they shared a watery glance while fondly remembering their eccentric Headmaster. Ginny, on the other hand, was crushed. Harry grimaced at his former girlfriends behavior.

"Is that all?" He asked Garglecrank pointedly. Garglecrank nodded. Harry swept out of the room, followed by Miss Granger. The red-haired girl was bawling something about how her dreams would never come true. In the strangest moment of clarity, Garglecrank felt a deep kinship with this tiny waif of a witch, who's motivations and plots were so... goblin-esque.

He reached into his desk and pulled out a hanky. Walking over to the sobbing girl, he handed it to her and placed a clawed hand on her shoulder for comfort. "There there, young one, I'm sure you'll find a better mate... one who has his head strapped on in the right direction." He rubbed her back comfortingly. Ginny blew her nose noisily, and tearfully looked up at the goblin.

"Really?" She asked tearfully.

Garglecrank nodded. "Oh yes. In fact, perhaps we can make a deal. You see, now that the Potter family fortune is no more, I find myself in need of a new account to manage. So, if I point you in the right direction..." Garglecrank trailed off.

Ginny smiled through her tears. "Then once I've secured my dreams, I'll remember those who made them possible?"

Garglecrank smiled. It was so nice to see that the child could outshine their parents. The Weasley account had been a laughing stock amongst the goblins for generations.

'Bah,' Garglecrank thought in disgust, 'give me the clink of galleons over sappy family any day!'

* * *

Later, Harry and Hermione shared a butterbeer at Tom's bar. Hermione sat unusually close to her best friend, making little comforting noises and rubbing his back. Harry idly fidgeted with contents of the box Dumbledore left him. He stopped when he felt something rock-like in one of the socks. Hermione looked at him while he peeked inside the sock.

Harry gasped.

"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked, concerned. Harry's reply was interrupted by a joyful phoenix-song and a flash of fire. Fawkes looked at the dumbfounded pair with avian amusement before depositing a letter in front of the two. With a final triumphant trill, the magnificent bird vanished in a gout of flame.

With shaking hands, Harry unfurled the parchment and read the letter, Hermione reading alongside.

_My dear boy,_

_I just wanted you to know again how horribly sorry I am for what I've done. I know it's a poor recompense, but I have left you this final gift. Once again I must admit that I mislead you for the good of all wizard kind. I, and Flammel, felt the idea that an eleven-year-old boy, no matter how incredible, could keep such an important secret quite impossible. So I lied to you, Harry. The Stone wasn't destroyed. My dear friends are enjoying their new lives, far far away from magical Britain, quite content that the world believes the stone lost. Oh dear me, forgive an old man for worrying you. No Harry (and, I suspect - and dearly hope - , Hermione), this is not the only Stone. Nick whipped up a spare some scant months after I took the original under my protection. He told me to give this to you, 'for sentimental purposes.' I heartily agree. I know you have little use for wealth, but believe me when I say it will bring some extra comfort for the many, many years you have ahead of you._

_With everlasting love and regrets,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin - First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W., Smelly Lump of Rotten Flesh._

_P.S. I do hope you kept the Elder Wand. It won't do anybody any good just lying with my body._

_P.P.S. Remember that talk we had, your second year? After I found you doing you-know-what to you-know-who? The advice I gave then is still as relevant (and ignored) now as it was then. Take it from a man who wasted his life loving a horrible person for all the wrong reasons. Tell her, for Merlin's sake. Stop being such a pussy._

_P.P.P.S. Yes, Hermione, if you are reading this, I did call Harry a pussy. Maybe if he grows a pair he'll tell you why. And for God's sake, dump the damn ginger! He's still the lazy little shite from first-year, insulting a brilliant young witch because he didn't want to overcome his own ignorance. Really, the Deluminator should have given you a pretty serious hint... I knew he'd abandon you during your greatest trials, as he'd always done before. People like him don't change, not until they lose everybody. Sometimes, not even then._

_P.P.P.P.S. Oh dear, this is starting to look like a letter written by a twelve-year-old girl. Harry, I will say again how very grateful I am to have ever met you, and how proud I am of the wizard you've become. Still, I mean it. Stop being a pussy._

Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry... what does he mean about you-know-what to you-know-who and why did he tell you to stop being a, " she blushed prettily as she whispered, "pussy?"

Harry blushed. "Er... Nothing. It's nothing."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Harry James Potter, it is most certainly not 'nothing.'"

Harry chuckled nervously. "No, really, it's nothing. Just an in-joke, like the socks."

"Honestly Harry! Just tell me already!" Hermione said, annoyed at her friend's evasions.

Harry shook his head.

"You really are a pussy, aren't you?" Hermione asked mischievously.

"Hey!" Harry said, shocked at Hermione's language.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, Dumbledore was a great and wise wizard, so I suppose if he said you are acting like a pussy..."

Harry flushed. "I s'rt 'f..." He mumbled the rest.

Hermione grinned. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. Do all pussies mutter under their breath?"

Harry mock-glared at Hermione. "Oh ha ha. Fine, he sort of caught me kissing you..."

Hermione gasped. "When I was petrified?" She asked, quietly.

Harry's blush darkened. "No! That's just... wrong! It… it was actually afterwards, when you fell asleep on the common room couch... nobody was around (or so I thought) and I was so happy that you were alright..."

Hermione snickered. "Oh Harry, that's so sweet, in a creepy stalker kind of way... so what did he talk to you about?"

"Er... nothing." Harry evaded.

"Harry!" Hermione said in frustration.

"Well, what about you and Ron, then? I mean, if Dumbledore was such a great and wise wizard..." Harry trailed off, suggestively.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out. "Don't be such a prat!" She mock-slapped him on the shoulder.

Harry shrugged, grinning. "Well, what's good for the gander's good for the goose! Ha! I win! Let it be known that the boy-who-lived, the man-who-conquered, has overcome the greatest challenge ever! I have beaten Hermione in a logical argument!"

Laughing, Hermione play-slapped Harry's shoulder again. Harry grinned, happy (well, somewhat happy) that the matter appeared dropped. After a few more hours, and more than a few more rounds, the pair tipsily staggered to the floo under the amused eye of the bartender.

Hermione grinned, leaning on Harry's shoulder. "So, what now?" She asked, eyes sparkling with mirth (and a hint of something else).

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. "I dunno. I don't really want to go back to the Burrow..."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "Yeah... maybe... do you want to come over to my flat, just for tonight? It seems like it's been forever since it was just the two of us..." She trailed off.

Harry fidgeted. "No... I probably better not. Ron's going to be in a right bloody mood next time I see him 'cause I dumped his little sister... don't want him any angrier."

Hermione shook her head in dismay. "Alright, Harry, if you're sure..." She smiled wickedly up at him, and leaned close. Harry shivered as he felt her breath lick his ear. "Pussy," she whispered seductively into his ear, lightly running her tongue over the edge. Then, with a giddy swirl, she pulled away, threw the powder into the floo, called out her address and vanished into the green flames.

Harry stood there, stunned. Tom clucked his tongue at the lad. "Harry, when a bird runs away you're supposed to give chase!" He let out a gravelly chuckled. "I mean, unless you're some kind of pussy."

Harry hadn't heard the grizzled bartender's parting shot. He was too busy leaping into the green flames, and the tantalizingly mischievous unknown.

* * *

A/N: There. I feel dirty. Hopefully I'll come up with something appropriately sick and twisted to make up for it. Like that PokeGirl story.


	17. Origins

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: This drabble came to me after hearing about Alfred, a History (which I still haven't read yet). I know its short, and lacking a LOT of important details. Still, it's a drabble, no more, no less. I'm probably never going to do anything with it. So, feel free to steal away, just give me a spot of credit.

* * *

Hermione first noticed something was wrong on the Hogwarts Express. She was worried that Harry would be depressed over the death of his godfather, yes, but not this. She glanced nervously at Harry. His face still held that smile. Not a contented smile, or a smirk, or a grin, or a sublime beam of transcendental happiness.

It was a contorted rictus of a smile, a grotesque parody of a facial expression, a flag bearer of madness.

"Harry," Hermione asked, "is everything alright?"

Harry's eyes focused on her, but his expression didn't change. "Of course it is, Hermione. Can't you see I'm smiling."

Hermione tried to return his smile, but her face faltered. "I… I suppose so," she dithered. "So… why are you smiling?"

"Because I'm in love," Harry replied before sighing wistfully. "Because I'm in love."

Hermione wanted to say more, but her prefect duties called.

* * *

Time showed Hermione the second sign. Harry never stopped smiling. Not for the feast, not for Ron, not for Snape. The days passed into weeks, and Harry's face never changed.

* * *

"Harry," Hermione asked later, "who are you in love with? You never told me."

Harry winked, the horrid expression growing more demented and gleeful. "That, my dear, is a surprise, a lovely joke on the world." His green eyes stared at her, through her, sharing some unfathomable secret.

Hermione shuddered, half in fear, half in something unknowable.

* * *

The night before her birthday, an owl tapped at her window. It was a festive thing, all green and white. It dropped a package, which quickly expanded into a box. Tentatively, Hermione opened the box.

A clown-face greeted her. She picked up the festive card. Underneath the card was a book, old and bound in leather. The faded words 'The King in Yellow' graced the front. She opened the card, curiosity warring with trepidation.

'It's not much,' the choppy ill-wrought letters on the card read, 'but maybe you'll understand why I'm smiling. Happy Birthday, Hermione.' The card wasn't signed.

Hermione smiled happily to herself. The handwriting was a signature of its own.

She settled down to read the gift. It was a play, a tragedy, a Greek comedy. The words wriggled into her mind like boring worms, and her eyes danced in the moonlight.

* * *

The third sign something was horribly right arrived at her window on her birthday. She shared secret smiles with Harry all day, her mind wrapped about the faded words that writhed against her understanding.

Harry's face wasn't grotesque anymore. It was beautiful, and she sighed.

She opened the package. Inside another clown-faced card greeted her, and she read the words within.

'I'm no Van Gogh, but still I must show you how I care.' She giggled before looking into the package.

There, still coated in fresh blood, seeming to squirm under her gaze, was a long strip of flesh with a tell-tale scar engraved.

Hermione cooed, and stroked her new pet.

'Harry loves me,' she thought while absently tracing the lightning bolt with her finger.

* * *

Hermione swished her wand about, summoning brightly colored canaries. She wasn't crying, but tears welled in her eyes and her smile split her face. Harry entered the empty room and sat down next to her. He squeezed her shoulder.

"Why, my sweet retort, are you so angry?" Harry asked.

"I'm not angry," Hermione replied in a sing-song voice. "I'm not angry. I'm sad, so sad, because he doesn't get the joke."

Unfortunately, 'Won-won' chose that moment to open the door, Lavender clutching tightly to his side.

"Oi! You two alright in there?" Ron asked happily.

Hermione flicked her wand, letting her little helpers free to feast. The dove after Ron, sharp beaks tearing divots of flesh from his body. He screamed and ran, arms flailing wildly against the pastel onslaught.

Harry chuckled and squeezed her against him.

"I want," Hermione mused, "to wear his head as a hat."

"What my pumpkin wants, my pumpkin gets."

* * *

That night, Harry stood over Ron's bed with an axe. Ron woke up, and blinked blearily at his jovial friend.

"Oi, Harry, what're ya doing?" Ron asked, shocked at the sight.

"I'm going to cut off your head," Harry said with a chuckled. "Isn't that grand?"

Ron chuckled. "Heh, yeah. You're such a joker, mate."

Harry nodded. "So true! So true!" The axe fell, and blood splattered about the hangings.

* * *

Hermione beamed as she walked to her DADA class. She loved her new hat, a tasteful little number with a screaming weasel on top.

"Once more, professor, and this time with feeling! Crucio!"

Hermione cocked her head to the side and listened to the agonized screams of one Severus Snape. She pouted.

Puddins! You started class early."

* * *

Dumbledore choked and coughed up blood. The poison was wending its way through his system with deliberate artistry. Limb paralysis was first, followed by searing agony. Hermione giggled and nuzzled her head into Harry, so very proud of him.

He'd get an O on his Potions NEWT for sure!

"Why?" Dumbledore gasped out, "My dear boy why?"

Harry laughed. Hermione sighed against his side.

"Why not? Some jokes, old friend, don't have a punch-line." Hermione nipped on Harry's neck, tasting him. Harry laughed gleefully as he watched the Headmaster convulse, the old man's skin cracking like mud under the sun, bright pastel ichor flowing from transfigured innards. He cocked his head to the side. "You don't think it's funny?" He asked absently, tapping his finger against his lip. "Oh dear, I guess it's one of those 'you had to be there' things, isn't it?"

The weasel on Hermione's hat roared. Dumbledore's face began contorting into a grotesque smile.

"Yes, that must be it. Toodles, Albus, there's a bright beautiful world out there, and it's calling me!"

* * *

A/N: Yups, it's a joker!Harry origin snippet. I took inspiration from many different varieties of the Joker, not just the newest (and truly AWESOME) one done by Heath Ledger. 'The King in Yellow' is a reference to Lovecraft's Mythos. I used it because I was too lazy to really work at driving Hermione insane.


	18. Why gods shouldn't drink

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N:...because I got another one of those horrible crack filled plot bunnies that won't let go.

Prologue:

Death, Fate, Destiny and Time were drunk. Very very VERY drunk. They'd blown passed tipsy, completely ignored the 'three-sheets to the wind', flew beyond 'pissed' and were now quite contentedly simmering at 'Absolutely pants-off puking shitfaced.'

It was in this state that the Elder Beings came up with, perhaps, the worst idea ever.

Even worse than the Merlin Debacle of '73.

It'd started out ordinarily enough. Death and Destiny were having a mutual bitch-fest about the intergalactic cluster-fuck known as Harry Potter's life. Death couldn't stop pissing and moaning about how Albus Dumbledore'd managed to fuck up not one, but two fucking prophecies, and because of his creative mind-buggery Death was NEVER going to get his damned wand, cloak, and rock back.

Destiny, on the other hand, was still piss-faced fuming over the fact that not ONLY was her beautiful plans for a generation pissed down the drain, but instead not a SINGLE MOTHERFUCKING ONE of the mortals managed to actually FULFILL their bloody destiny, resulting in YET ANOTHER batch of half-arsed souls getting reincarnated on earth. Heaven was NOT amused that they'd missed their quota. Angels don't grow on trees, you know? Well, they could... but the Big Hat upstairs didn't like that idea.

So, whilst the erstwhile pair were busily getting blitzed, who saunters in smelling vaguely of brimstone but Fate herself. Not one to let petty politics get in the way of a good piss-session, Death waved her over and bought her a round. It seems Fate had even more bloody pent-up frustration over the whole mess than Destiny. Not ONLY had one VERY deserving bastard manage to skip out of the Fate he'd EARNED, but now she was forced to RECYCLE the most TATTERED EXCUSE FOR A SOUL EVER! It appears that Tom Riddle's fate was to die at the hands of the very boy he'd tried to kill, but nooooo... the manipulative old arsehat managed to bugger that up so badly that Tom died of some odd suicidal spat, effectively saving him from a nice happy stay at Hotel Hell. To make matters worse, that pontificating patronizing ponce even managed to bugger up EVERY SINGLE Death-Eater's Fate, so Hell was most displeased that their quota of fresh Demon Fodder was also remarkably low.

Around that time, or perhaps before it ever happened, Time decides to stop by the Ethereal Bar. His/her/it's irrtation was of far greater consequence. It seems that not only had the natural order of things been buggered up beyond all possible repair, but the only two soulmates of the bloody generation were off HUMPING OTHER PEOPLE. This, unfortunately, meant that there was now a great dearth of fresh souls, which meant Time had to scramble across the tangled web of possibilities to hunt down enough fresh souls to fill all the babies popping up. Otherwise, it was Apocalypse for that dimension, and Time'd grown rather fond of the lager.

Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, fucks with Time's lager.

And so it was that the drunken conversation took a most disastrous turn.

"We've got to fix this mess," Death slurred. "I mean, come on, it's been a bloody millennia already. I want my wand back!"

"Sod yer bloody toys," Time snorted, "there's an incoming Apocalypse and I've grown rather fond of this lager."

"Wait… I've got it!" Fate exclaimed in an inebriated frenzy. "Why don't we send some poor bastard back with all their memories, and let them take care of this mess for us?"

Destiny shook her head. "Not gonna happen. You know what the Head Honcho says. No more sending people back. I think we all remember what happened with that Merlin shit."

Fate and Death nodded solemnly.

Time harrumphed. "Well I thought it turned out bloody brilliantly."

Death snorted. "That's just because the fall of Atlantis meant that your bloody precious lager was invented."

"Well, I rather like my lager," Time mumbled softly. The rest of the Immortals rolled their eyes.

Fate looked despondent, until in a tippled flash inspiration overcame her. "I've got it. Look, the Law says no Human can get sent back, right?"

Death nodded, looking at Fate suspiciously.

"Well, what if we send back a magical creature instead?" Fate said excitedly.

Death nodded again. "Well, I suppose that could work, but what bloody use would that be? I mean, what's a hippogryph going to do, or even a bloody dragon?"

Destiny nodded at Death. "Exactly. I mean, where are we going to find a magical creature loony enough to actually go back, anyhow."

"Excuse me Immortal sirs," a small figure said, almost buckling under the large tray filled with tasty alcoholic beverages, "Dobby has your order ready."

The four Immortals stared at their little waiter, and as one smiled.

"Err… is there something on Dobby's face?"

* * *

The little house elf gave the four Incarnations a dubious stare. "So, yous wants Dobby to go back in time, yes?" As a one, the four nodded. "And yous wants Dobby to help Mister Harry Potter to beat the bad wizard?"

"Exactly," Death said, happy that the little guy understood.

"Dobby is okay with that," the house elf continued, "but Dobby refuses to shackle Mister Harry Potter with Missus Granger."

Destiny was taken aback. "Why ever not?"

Dobby narrowed his buggy eyes. "Because Missus Granger is terrible for Mister Harry Potter! She is nagging and not understanding anything! Why, Dobby made sure that Mister Harry Potter would stay free the first time, and Dobby would do it again!"

"What?!" Time bellowed.

Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. Dobby made sure that Mister Weasley got stuck with Missus Granger." His voice lowered to a hiss. "Theys deserves each others, they do! Dobby made sures that theys gots their potions, rights on time!"

"You mean that the apocalypse is your fault?!" Time roared. He lunged at Dobby, only to be held back by Destiny and Fate. "Why you little runt! I'll murder you! You stole my Lager!"

While Fate and Destiny attempted to calm down the enraged Incarnate, Death knelt woozily down next to Dobby. "Now Dobby, I know you want the best for Harry, right?" Dobby nodded. Death smiled. "And you and I both agree that the apocalypse and destruction of the Universe is bad, right?" Dobby nodded again. "So maybe you'll trust us when we say that Harry and Hermione are supposed to get together?" Dobby shook his head. Death sighed. "What'll it take?"

Dobby narrowed his eyes and thought. "Maybe is Missus Granger actually knew what shes talked about…"

Death grinned. "Yes yes! Exactly! So, why don't you make sure of that!" Dobby nodded dubiously.

"Alright, Dobby can do that. So, yous will sends Dobby backs, and Dobby will help the great Mister Harry Potter?" Death nodded, happy that the house elf finally understood. "Okay. What is a soulsmate, anyhow?"

"Exactly what it sounds like: Two souls that, well, mate. You see, we need lots of new souls to fill up all of the babies made, and even with reincarnation the numbers just don't work out. So, soulmates are two souls who, when they connect, spawn off lots of little souls."

The house elf shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Sends Dobby back."

"Wonderful! Now, after Time calms down a bit, we'll send you back in time to Harry's seventh birthday, and you can take care of everything!" Death said.

Dobby paused. "But, then Dobby is slave to Malfoys again!"

"Oh no," Death said. "That's not how it works. You see, Dobby, you died a free elf, and we're sending you back with all of your magic and memories. So, while you may wake up in the Malfoy household, you won't be their slave."

Dobby shuffled his feet. "Still, what can Dobby do?"

Fate smiled, having caught the tail end of the conversation. "Why Dobby, you're a free elf. You can do whatever you want!"

Dobby broke out into a grin that threatened to split his face.

* * *

The next morning, Time woke up sandwiched between Fate and Destiny with a pounding headache. "Oooooo… what did we do last night?"

A burst of flame filled the room. "I am the Metatron, Voice of the Most High!"

"Oh bugger."


	19. Why I shouldn't drink

A/N: Because I've been gone for so long, and some of you asked... here's chapter one of my (truly tragic simply because it exists) Harry Potter/ PokeGirls cross. By the way, if you don't know what PokeGirls are... um, Google it, but not at work. Or if your parents/S.O./anybody who'd tease you for being a perv are around.

Oh, it's vaguely AU - the where/when/how doesn't matter. In fact, the biggest 'deal' is that Harry's got a packed and shrunken trunk.

* * *

Harry blinked

Harry blinked. 'Well, that's odd,' he thought as he took in his surroundings. One moment he had his stuff packed and shrunken (courtesy of one Nymphadora Tonks), ready for the Hogwarts express. The next, he was in a forest.

An eerily silent forest.

'Silent is bad,' Harry thought, easing his wand out of his pocket.

His preternatural seeker instincts caused him to fling himself to the right while aiming his wand at the blur that lashed out where his head used to be.

"_Expellarimus_! _Incarcero_!"

With a dull thump and a muffled whumph his assailant slammed into a tree as glowing golden ropes bound it firmly. He took a moment to catch his breath before observing just who or what it was he jinxed.

Harry stopped. He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt and put them back on again.

'What the hell?!' He thought.

There, against the tree, was a girl. Of sorts. Well, of the sort that looked like a cross between a tiger and a girl, really. Kind of like those silly Disney cartoons Dudders never let him watch. Except for the oddly sparkly fur, like it had been sprinkled with finely ground diamonds. His subconscious absently noted that the fur didn't quite make up for her lack of clothing. His conscious mind was entirely too busy recognizing the familiar face and head of bushy tiger-striped hair.

"Her…Hermione?!"

* * *

The girl bound to the tree growled and snarled at him, until she heard Harry call her name. One of the cat-ears on the top of her head twitched. "You know my name?" Hermione said. Her eyes narrowed. "I suppose this means you are going to tame me, and drag me back to that thrice-damned Weasley Ranch, aren't you." She struggled harder against the ropes, but they refused to slacken, nor could her claws slice her arms free.

"Err… what?" Harry asked stupidly.

Hermione glared. "Don't play dumb."

"No, really. I have no idea." Harry said.

Hermione's struggles ceased. She cocked her head to the side as she regarded her captor. "Oh. Well then. I don't suppose you'd mind letting me go?"

He almost did. Except something about her eyes made Harry pause. It was distinctly predatory, much akin to the expression she gave Rita after Hermione'd trapped the little bug in a jar. Harry lowered his wand. "No, I don't think I will. Not until you explain what you meant by 'taming' you, the Weasley Ranch, and so on."

Hermione thrashed even more vigorously against her bonds, howling and spitting in frustration, her long supple legs kicking against the ground. A flash of her uncovered nether-regions along with the delightful motions of her struggling quickly brought Harry's subconscious and conscious mind into a parallel line of thought.

'Hot DAMN!' Harry thought (drooled). 'I always knew she was cute, pretty even, but hoooooolllllyyyyyyyy shit! I've got wank material stored up for **months**.'

Eventually, Hermione realized that Harry'd well and truly Borged her. Slumping against the ropes, she leveled her dead best glare at the green-eyed boy. "You might have me tied up," she spat, "but you won't get one iota of information out of me."

Harry grinned. He'd wanted to do this for years, heck ever since his first year. He casually enlarged his trunk and sat next to it. "I have ways of making you talk." Hermione glowered. "You don't believe me?" Harry asked. Hermione shook her head no. Humming softly to himself, Harry opened the trunk, extracting a quill and ink bottle along with a roll of parchment. Hermione's breath hitched, but she remained stubbornly silent. Harry grinned at her wickedly. "Still don't believe me?" She glowered hatefully. Harry shrugged before reaching into the trunk, pulling out a book and closing the lid. He set the ink pot and quill down along side the parchment.

"It's just full of information," he mumbled to himself as he flipped to one of the bookmarked passages.

A bead of sweat formed on Hermione's forehead.

Harry jotted down a few notes before flipping a page.

The sweat trickled down her brow.

"It's a textbook, by the way. I'm working on a special project," Harry explained, "it involves a great deal of esoteric historical research."

Her eyes widened. Harry noted that her pupils were cat-like. Unconsciously she strained against the bonds, trying to get a peak at the contents. Harry made sure that the book was positioned so that she could see the edge of the page, a few letters perhaps, but not read a single word.

Harry jotted down a few more notes while reading. "Not too many tomes in the forest, are there?"

She started to pant.

Harry kept reading. "You know, this book is called Hogwarts, a History. It's all about the school I go to."

Her eyes widened, and she leaned harder against her bonds, trying to catch a glimpse of the content.

"I rather doubt," Harry said happily, "that there's another book like this in the world."

Hermione screamed. "Alright! I'll talk! Gimme gimme gimme!"

Harry happily put the book down, waving his wand so her arms were free. He tossed the book to her. She snatched it out of the air and began furiously reading. Fifteen minutes later, her head emerged from the book and she said "Did you know that you can't apparate on Hogwarts grounds?"

Harry smiled. "Accio book!" The book flew from her hands. Hermione whimpered, clutching at the air. "Now, why don't you tell me what you meant by taming and such?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine, I'll tell you. It's rather obvious that you are from another world, or dimension perhaps. I should start at the beginning. You see…"

Harry recognized Hermione's lecture mode, and settled back for one entirely too long discussion. From what he could gather, some mad scientist type created super-powered sex-slaves called pokegirls. Evidently, they pretty much annihilated everything until somebody figured out that fucking them made the pokegirls complacent. Hence the term taming. Unfortunately, the ecosystem was pretty much fucked and the wilderness was filled with wild pokegirls. Even worse, due to the rather rampant interbreeding between humans and pokegirls just about any teenage female could 'Threshold' and transform from a perfectly normal girl into a pokegirl. Worse yet, 'tamed' pokegirls weren't considered people. Instead, they were considered property, and much of the economy thrived around the taming and breeding of sentient creatures.

Evidently, that's what happened to this world's Hermione. One day she woke up fuzzy. Normally, she'd have accepted her fate, but through some clever wrangling her parents were forced to sell her to the Weasley Ranch. She couldn't stand the idea of being touched by Ron, much less tamed, so she decided that going feral was a better fate.

"Wait," Harry said quickly. "Don't feral pokegirls lose a great deal of their intelligence?"

Hermione nodded. "That's right. I figured a lobotomy was better than the lusty advances of that ginger bastard."

"Let me guess: The loss of intelligent is fractional, rather than set?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded. "So, you went from being frighteningly brilliant to merely incredibly bright." Harry deadpanned.

Hermione made a sour face. "That's the sum of it, yes."

"So why don't you just go back to your parents and live out life as a slightly less than genius?" Harry asked.

"There's the little thing about my uncontrollable predatory instincts and lust for blood," Hermione said happily. "That's how I've avoided getting tamed so far. Well, that and the fact that most tamers are as tasty as they are nutritious." She licked her chops, exposing sharp canines.

Harry shuddered. Not from fear, but from a rather healthy dose of hormones.

She frowned. "Well, freedom was nice, I suppose. Aren't you going to tame me now?"

Harry looked disgusted at the thought. "Of course not!"

"Are you gay?" She asked.

"No!"

"So what? You're just going leave me here tied to this tree until I die of dehydration, or one of the other pokegirls eats me?" She asked pitifully.

"No! That's even worse!" Harry said. He waved his wand, freeing her. "I'm letting you go."

Hermione smiled wickedly and lunged for him, claws extended.

"_Aguamenti_!" A spray of cold water erupted from his wand and soaked her.

**Hiss!**

Hermione glared at him, the very picture of indignation. Harry chuckled. "Despite what the useless fuckers on this world think, I don't have to rape you to save my own skin."

She glowered. Her muscles tensed for another lunge. Harry pointed the wand at her. "Bad Kitty! _Aguamenti_!"

**Hiss!**

"I can do this all day," Harry said.

"Fine," Hermione harrumphed. Harry replaced the items in his trunk and shrunk it before placing it back in his pocket.

"But… but… what about the book?" Hermione asked piteously.

Harry chuckled. "You'll never see it if you eat me."

She frowned. "I can't help it…"

"Are you going to attack me again?" Harry asked. Hermione shook her head, eyeing his wand warily. "Well then, you can help it. So, which way to a town?"

Hermione shrugged. "You'll never make it out of the forest alive. This place is crawling with pokegirls."

"Just point me in the right direction," Harry said calmly. Hermione gestured eastwards.

"I'm coming with you." She said.

"Why?"

"Because I'm bored, and you have books."

"Fair enough."

Harry walked off, leaving Hermione behind. She tensed and lunged.

"_Aguamenti_!"

**Hiss!**


	20. Yet another dead bunny

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

Hermione shook her head at her friend's stubborn nature. "Honestly Harry, if you'd just practice your occlumency then you wouldn't have to worry so much! I know Professor Snape is just terrible, but the Headmaster trusts him so why don't you just apply yourself a little more?"

Harry snapped. Between Umbridge, his god-awful headaches, the nightmares, his scar, Ron and Hermione's constant mindless bickering and now his 'best friend's' endless nagging Harry couldn't take it any more.

"Apply myself… apply myself? You have no idea what it's like!" Harry spat.

Hermione crossed her arms under her breasts, turned her head and sniffed. "It certainly can't be that bad, Harry!"

Harry saw red. "Well, Hermione, how about I show you exactly how Snape teaches me." He whipped out his wand and pointed it between Hermione's eyes. "CLEAR YOUR MIND! _Legilimens_!"

He felt himself slashing into Hermione's mind. The realization of what he'd done sank in as he watched a young Hermione taunted cruelly by her classmates. He broke off the spell immediately. Once he'd returned to himself, he screamed as he watched her collapse, blood streaming from her eyes and nose.

…

Dumbledore paled as the wards set on the Gryffindor tower screamed at him. He turned to the portrait monitoring the situation. "What happened?" Albus asked as he beckoned for Fawkes.

"One of the students used wanded Legilimency on another!" The portrait cried out.

"Fawkes, take me there NOW!" Dumbledore hollered before the bird and man vanished in a puff of flame.

…

Dumbledore didn't bother taking in the situation, rather he dropped the two occupants of the Gryffindor common room with an area-effect stunner. He could only hope he'd arrived in time to minimize the damage.

He gasped when he noticed Harry, wand in hand, slumped over Hermione.

"No…" Albus gasped out, "NO! Fawkes! Transport the pair of them to the Dumbledore Manor, and make sure they stay unconscious." Fawkes trilled and flew over to the pair, whisking them away.

Still shocked over what he'd witnessed, Albus walked numbly back to his office to collect the necessary implements.

…

Albus sat in his office, numbly considering the vial of glowing golden liquid held loosely in his hand. He'd feared the worst, and yet was still shocked and horrified by what he'd discovered.

'If only it had been Riddle,' Dumbledore thought ruefully, 'then perhaps the Hallows could still unite.' He shook his head. Fortunately for Miss Granger, Harry's attack was both short and weak. The damage done to her psyche was repairable, although unfortunately she'd always suffer from the side-effects unless given the same treatment as Harry.

'Severus…' Dumbledore thought, both shocked and mutely impressed, 'your betrayal is as great, if not greater, than Pettigrew's.' Harry's mind was a mess, the brutal attacks on his psyche rending apart his focus, his will, his ability to defend himself against Riddle's incursions and worst of all shredded his magical talents almost beyond repair.

Dumbledore sighed in disgust. Unfortunately, the Hallows, being Death's treasures, would never fully function for those who sought any other means of eluding Death's grasp. That was the reason why he and Gellert never pursued any other means of extending their lifespans, even after his former friend walked down the darkest possible path. He regarded the vial in his hand with deep disappointment. 'The Elixir of Life… perhaps the only substance that will save Harry and Hermione from my mistakes,' Albus thought sadly. He'd lied to the boy, as he had so many times before and afterwards, when he told Harry that the Stone was destroyed and the Flammels doomed to die. The truth was that Voldemort had tortured the pair to death while ripping out every last bit of knowledge regarding the Stone's usage and creation from the pair. He'd told the boy the lie in order to help foster the acceptance of death as a part of life in Harry. If the boy was to reclaim his heritage, and unite the Hallows… Albus shook his head sharply. No used dwelling on dreams.

He uncorked the vial. He knew he was weak, he felt the burden of his many years whittling away his magical power. He'd accepted the reality of his oncoming death, indeed he drew a great deal of comfort and strength in the knowledge that soon he'd reunite with his beloved little sister.

A tear trickled down his wizened cheek. He could not, in any semblance of good conscience, allow the damage done to spread like a cancer. He raised the vial to his lips, and swallowed a third of the contents.

…

Albus walked calmly into Severus' private sanctum, petrified and silenced his former colleague. He strode purposefully towards the Death Eater.

"You know, Severus, it's a terrible tragedy that I'll never know how you managed to break the Unbreakable Vow." Albus stated as he drew the stiff man's left arm towards him. "Still, now that I know there is nobody truly repentant left bearing the Dark Mark, I shall do what I should have done all those years ago, when you first came crawling into my office begging for forgiveness."

Albus pressed his wand into the skull and snake tattoo burned into Snape's arm.

"_Crucio_."

Albus held the spell for ten minutes, until he grew weary. He dropped Snape's arm and dispelled the bindings holding the man still. Severus slumped onto the ground and vomited blood, his dark eyes staring glassily off into the distance.

Dumbledore left his 'friend' to his madness. "Perhaps Voldemort will find recruitment a tad more difficult now that all of his followers are mindless husks, hmm?" Albus pondered to himself, jauntily whistling a tune from the idle days of his boyhood, when Gellert was a golden youth and plans made were youthful flights of fancy rather than excuses to slaughter millions.

* * *

A/N: The rest of the story involves Dumbledore actually ACTING like a great and powerful wizard, Harry and Hermione recovering from their respective damage (if you couldn't guess – they both needed a dose of the Elixir of Life to recover, although Hermione's dose was voluntary), getting trained and encouraged by an actual mentor figure, lots of nifty magic and explosions, until Harry/Dumbles/Hermione face off against Voldemort and… um… well, Voldemort's new minions because frankly all of the old ones are drooling vegetables. Who knows, maybe it's worth writing the whole thing, although I doubt it'd be much longer than 10k words or so. I mean, if Dumbledore actually ACTED, the Harry Potter saga would have been much, MUCH shorter.

Oh, and appologies to Robert Jordan for stealing his most irritating feminine action (if you've read the series, you know what I'm talking about).


	21. Dead bunnies aren't much fun

Disclaimer: Mine, it is not.

A\N: This is a post Deathly Hollows scene I whipped up a while back. Just like everything else I do, I doubt it's going to go anywhere. Feel free to plunder away.

* * *

Harry sat in the café, and contemplated how his life had led him here. After Voldemort's defeat, he'd assumed that the world would somehow fall back into place. He shook his head at his youthful naiveté. The first shake-up occurred when Hermione turned down Ron's marriage proposal. The explosion over that event strained their friendship past the breaking point. Hermione, eager to prove herself yet again, returned to Hogwarts to take her NEWTs and fulfill her dream of being Head Girl. Ron, showing his typical motivation, muddled along until finally settling on helping George run the shop. As far as Harry knew, Ron was still puttering about aimlessly crafting and selling gags. Harry took up the ministry's offer to let him skip the NEWTs and go straight into the three year Auror program. Hermione let him know how disappointed she felt, but grudgingly agreed that Hogwarts held too many painful memories. She had her hands full enough, he supposed, to risk alienating her other best friend.

He smiled, fondly recalling the barrel he'd been bent over during Auror training. It seemed some wise-arse made the brilliant decision that Harry, the Man-Who-Conquered, was entirely too mighty for the standard Auror training and forward him straight into the elite of the elite. He'd learned the hard way that they took their oaths seriously. The next three years caused him to regret every single wasted moment in Hogwarts as they ruthlessly brought him up to the required competency in six months of grueling academics. After that, the hardship truly started. He'd kept in touch with both Ron and Hermione, but true to form Ron abandoned Harry after Ron found out that one of the brainless twats Ron caught a fancy for was using their 'relationship' as a way to pursue Harry. Of course, Ron let himself get blinded by jealousy and blamed Harry for the entire mess. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't nearly as forgiving as he used to be. The Academy took care of that: knowing who you could trust to watch your back no matter what got drilled into their heads, as well as how Ron's kind of stupid shit got you and your partners killed. It'd been two years since Harry'd talked to his former friend.

Ginny didn't help. He supposed it really wasn't anybody's fault that the relationship fell apart. No, wait, that wasn't quite true. He knew precisely upon whose shoulders the blame laid. Molly had pushed them both towards marriage, and surprisingly it was Ginny who pushed back the hardest. They broke up over the Weasley family dinner table. Ginny never looked back, and frankly Harry was too damn busy trying to keep from washing out of training to care.

Still, he'd managed to keep some friends. Neville, the big lug, kept a fairly close correspondence with Harry throughout training. Until recently, they met damn near every weekend with a few of the guys to play poker and drink. Hermione, of course, saw him every chance she could, but Hogsmeade weekends and his own schedule made it hard. She wrote him her standard voluminous letters, and for a change he replied in kind. The changes in his life were hard enough without some form of stability, and listening to Hermione ramble on over some esoteric subject or another provided him with a bit of comfort. Then, a little bit over a year after Voldemort's defeat, she tearfully admitted that she was leaving the country to pursue an opportunity in the States. He dutifully muttered the appropriate words of comfort and support, and they'd parted on good terms. Hermione didn't let her new course load interfere with her letters, and Harry found himself learning more about theoretical charms and the town surrounding her college than he'd ever wanted.

His own ambitions took a sharp left about halfway through the training. He'd learned that a wand whose owner passed would bond itself to the next person that was compatible, and battle wands were quite taken to forceful personalities. So, even if the last owner passed on peacefully, the wand would happily work for the next bloody berk who picked it up. With that unpleasant bit of news, Harry regretfully removed the Elder Wand from Dumbledore's tomb and began utilizing it. The next day, he found the Resurrection Stone in his bloody trouser pocket, right next to his keys. Harry shook his head. He really should have known that ancient magic wasn't so easily put to rest. Of course, his instructors were overjoyed at Harry's sudden surge of competency, and quickly escalated the training process. He smiled ruefully at the law of unintended consequences. Finally, he was free, his three-year long torture session completed. He balked at taking the final oath, and thought he'd take a spot of time off to clear his head. The trainers understood enough to let him go without a fuss. Hermione was less understanding; she couldn't grasp the concept of working so hard for something only to stop just before getting it.

It wasn't the oath, or the work that bothered him. It was the world. The ministry already knew of another Dark-Lord-in-Training, out of France of all places. Of course, considering how even French muggles were obsessive-compulsive about being 'pure' and avoiding foreign influence… that the magical side exaggerated the trait seemed almost a given. Britain's ministry, and the rest of the world, decided it was France's problem and washed their hands of the affair. Harry knew better, and saw where this was heading… especially the gigantic target on his back that read 'Guy Who Wasted the Last Dark Lord.'

Sickened by the fact that most likely he was going to get thrust into the role of involuntary savior – again – he'd came to the decision that led him to his current position, sitting in a muggle café in the middle of downtown Richmond. He already hated the place, it was dirty, filled with rude people and it smelled. Unfortunately, the city hid one of the few magical institutes of higher learning, squirreled away some three hundred or so years back by a group of muggle-born wizards and witches fleeing the then-oppressive Dutch ministry.

He rather wished he hadn't ordered the 'tea' here. It was cold, disgusting, and bogged down with enough sugar that the elephantine dimensions of the local muggles ceased to amaze him. It was hardly potable, much less 'tea.' A small part of him thought perhaps Britain should go back to war with the Colonies, if only to redress this grave insult to Her sensibilities. His looked up when he heard the jangling of the bells hanging from the café door.

He smiled as he noticed the familiar mass of bushy brown hair. His smile faded when he noticed that Hermione'd put on a good stone, and not in the right places. He started reconsidering his plan. Did everybody who lived in the States attract a couple dozen kilos worth of lard? He didn't relish turning into his Uncle Vernon. He'd have to ask around if it was something in the water. She wasn't exactly dolled up, either. She looked, well, dumpy. Still, she beamed a gloriously white-toothed smile when she saw him, and rushed over to his table. Harry barely had a chance to stand before she grasped him in a tight embrace. He knew it was terribly shallow, but it bothered him that he could feel her tummy squishing against him as well as her breasts.

Before she could say anything, he motioned for her to take the seat across from his own. Hermione quickly sat down, still smiling widely.

"Harry," she said happily, "whatever possessed you to come visit, especially on such short notice? Honestly, I had to run straight from the lab to make it here on time." She smiled, letting him know she wasn't upset.

Harry grinned, mentally smacking himself on the forehead. That would explain why she hadn't bothered dressing up. "Well, I'd like to say it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, but I got that out of my system during Hogwarts. Truth is, I sort of had to rush the trip, if you know what I mean."

Hermione nodded like she understood. "The press still hounding you?" She didn't, of course, but how could she?

"Something like that, yes," Harry replied. Unconsciously, he took another sip of his 'tea.' He grimaced in disgust. Hermione laughed at his expression.

"Quite atrocious, isn't it? Frankly, if they'd dumped this stuff in the Boston Harbor all those years back, I hardly think we would have considered it a loss, much less rebellion." She laughed at her own joke. Harry laughed along, more with the spirit than anything else. He never paid that much attention in history, and certainly never bothered reading up on other countries. "It is good to see you again, Harry!" She eyed him for a moment, and she was a lot less subtle in her appreciation than he'd remembered her ever being for Ron. "You certainly weren't joking about the training. It looks good on you."

Harry smiled, desperately grasping at a tactful response. He settled for, "It's good to see you again too. You look like you're comfortable here." A joke he'd heard from one of the guys during training made him scan her fingers for a wedding band. 'Ah, there it is, looks to be an engagement ring,' he thought ruefully. 'Figures: How do you turn a fox into an elephant? Marry her.'

She grimaced. He should have known better than to assume she wouldn't notice his hidden disappointment. "Yes, well, I suppose I have let myself go a bit, haven't I?"

Harry shrugged and grinned. "I suppose that's the way it goes once you get tied down to a bloke." He waved his hand vaguely towards her ring. "So, who's the lucky guy and why haven't I heard everything about him?"

Hermione's face fell. "He… he passed on." She said sadly.

"Oh," Harry said, his annoyance at having never heard anything vanishing. "When? I mean, if you want to talk about it, that is. Ah bugger, I'm no good at this sort of thing."

She gave him a weak smile. "No, it's alright. I really should have told you, but I honestly never thought it was going to go anywhere." She looked down at the table. "A couple months ago," she said softly.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that," Harry said.

"I suppose it's a terrible thing to say, but I'm really alright." She shrugged helplessly. "Don't get me wrong, I did miss him terribly, but I wasn't kidding about it never going anywhere. He was a distraction, I guess." She looked at her ring. "He asked me to marry him the night before he died. I should have said no, but," she blushed, "we were both pretty pissed at the time. I was going to give him the ring back, but I by the time I crawled out of the bed and took some hangover-helper…"

Harry patted her hand, like they'd shown him during the 'Sensitivity Training' course to help Aurors handle grieving victims. If only Hogwarts'd had one, would have made his life a lot easier. Hermione smiled faintly at him. "There was an accident. About half the people in the lab got out alive. He wasn't one of them." She sighed. "At least he didn't suffer. Something went wrong during a test of the new Disraeli-Jefferson Reactor. A Phlogiston Barrier disintegrated right next to him."

"Ouch," Harry said. He knew enough to understand the sheer caustic nastiness that must have gotten out.

"Yeah," She said softly. "There wasn't even a body to identify. They had to verify who died by looking at the log-in sheets." They both sat silently for a while.

Hermione smiled again, stronger this time. "I really am alright," she said. "I guess I just haven't had the heart to take the ring off. Probably won't for a while. Not really looking for anybody."

"I can understand that," Harry said. "Well, at least you can remember the good times, right?"

She smiled. "Yeah, and it ended before there really were bad times." She waited for him to take a drink before she grinned wickedly and added. "Sex was bloody fantastic."

Harry thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. "Hermione!" He said, coughing.

"What?" She asked innocently.

"I… you… bloody hell, woman! You did that on purpose!"

"Of course I did!" She laughed. "And what's with the blush? Honestly, Harry, it's not like you're some fainting _virgin_."

Harry grumbled something into his cup. Hermione's eyes widened. "Seriously? You mean you and Ginny hadn't…" Harry shook his head. "Well why the bloody hell not?"

"Hermione, language!" Harry chided. They both chuckled.

"Seriously, Harry. The way Ginny went on and on during Hogwarts I figured that you two were shagging each other rotten."

"Never got the chance, what with my training and her school and then career. And when we could have, well we never could get a single bloody hour of uninterrupted privacy. Molly made good and sure about that. I love her like a mother, but by Merlin she needs to let **go**!" Harry shook his head. "There was one night I was positive Ginny was going to hex her bubs off." He shrugged. "Never did though, and eventually Ginny got tired of being stalked by her own mum. The rest… well, you know all about that."

Hermione patted his hand and smiled. "I suppose I do, yes. Well, enough of this miserable conversation. What brings you across the pond?"

Harry shrugged and smiled. "What, I can't visit my best mate on a whim?"

Hermione laughed. "Might want to watch what you're saying now that you're in the colonies. Best mate doesn't quite mean the same thing as it does back home. And for Merlin's sake, if you took up smoking don't ask for a fag! They're called cigarettes here, fag's something completely different."

Harry chuckled. "Glad I don't smoke, then. Anyhow, know any good places to live around here? Doesn't have to be too close, but…"

Hermione blinked. "Well, I suppose there are some nice muggle places a bit outside of city limits. Cheaper in the city limits, but you have to keep your wand in hand. The locals are a bit rowdy, and fancy a spot of mugging on occasion."

Harry raised his eyebrow at Hermione's casual discussion about her wand in a restaurant full of muggles. She smiled, deciphering his unspoken question. "Oh, well where we have Obliviators, the Americans stumbled upon a simpler solution: Hippies."

"Hippies?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes. It would appear that there's a muggle subculture that's absolutely convinced that magic exists and that they can cast spells. Between the crystal-hugging hippies and the new-age nut-jobs, the average American muggle instantly tunes out any conversation dealing with magic as the product of a pot-addled mind. They dismiss claims of unusual events in the same manner. It's a bit dreadful, but tidy and efficient."

Harry bit back his laughter. Hermione couldn't help snickering at the constipated look on Harry's face, forcing him to bust out laughing. "Hippies," Harry exclaimed in between gasps, "Merlin, why the bloody hell didn't we think of that?" They chucked a few more times, and then fell silent.

"You never did answer my question," Hermione said, breaking the silence.

Harry shrugged. "Well, you know about the situation in France, right?" Hermione nodded, grimacing. "Well, I didn't feel like going through the whole Voldemort situation again."

She mulled over his words. "So you decided to come to the States to avoid the mess?" She considered the question. "That doesn't sound like you. Oh Harry, you didn't do anything illegal, did you?"

"Well… did you know that it's illegal to take a bath indoors in this state?" Harry asked, remembering a tidbit he'd read in some book on silly American laws.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Nice redirection, Harry, but I'm not buying it." She held up her hand. "No, don't tell me. It's better that I don't know."

Harry blinked. "Now that doesn't sound like you at all. You aren't going to press?"

"People change," she said sadly, "I've grown up. We both have, I guess." She shook her head, as if she were trying to shake off a memory. Harry supposed that was exactly what she was doing. "Look, why don't you come over to my flat and we can continue this discussion over a pot of real tea." Harry smiled, but shook his head. Hermione held up her hand to cut off any protest. "You won't be a bother. I don't have a roommate and frankly my flat is a spot too large for one person anyhow. It'll be nice to have some company, and Betsy does love cooking."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Betsy? I thought you said you didn't have a roommate."

Hermione gave Harry a sardonic grin. "Betsy is my house elf."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, Hermione 'SPEW' Granger has a house elf?"

She mock slapped him. "Prat! I'll have you know that I pay Betsy wages! Of course, it's not nearly enough…" She mumbled the last bit under her breath. Harry grinned. It was nice to know some things stayed the same. The sun rose in the east, Hermione detested slavery, and house elves thought that she was mad for it.

"Well, it would make things simpler," Harry mused.

"Great! Let's get going," Hermione said excitedly. Harry grinned. Some things definitely stayed the same. He motioned for his check, and after a short tussle over the bill, Harry paid and the pair left the café.

"You aren't the only one with money, you know." Hermione said with the slightest hint of her old bossy tone. Harry glanced at her inquisitively. She shrugged. "It turns out the modified protean charm I whipped up for the DA has quite a bit of marketability, and the Americans aren't nearly as anal over who makes the spell. Between that, some other little things I tossed together here and there and my job at the lab, I've got quite the sum stashed away now. I haven't even touched the money we got for our Order of Merlin awards."

"'Little things you tossed together here and there.' Right. Just like your 'light reading', I suppose?" Hermione narrowed her eyes in a mock glare. Harry gave her a genuine smile. "Good. I'm glad. Still, I don't want to impose…"

Hermione pursed her lips again. "Honestly? It wouldn't bother me in the least if you just moved into the spare bedroom. I miss having you around in the mornings. I still love you, you know."

Harry smiled warmly. "I love you too," he said, still a bit shocked after all the years apart that his affection for her hadn't diminished. Reading and writing the words time and time again over the years made them much easier to say, at least to Hermione. He'd never managed to find the right time to tell Ginny, and by the time he'd decided he was ready, it was over.

"Like a sister, right?" She asked teasingly.

"Of course. Just like you." Harry replied.

"Oh yes, definitely. Just. Like. A. _Sister_." Hermione said with relish.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted in shock. "I don't remember you being this cheeky back at Hogwarts!" Harry chuckled.

"I was a bit of a bint back then, wasn't I?" She said jokingly.

"Back then?" He deadpanned.

Hermione lightly swatted his arm. "Prat!"

Harry laughed. "No, not really. Well, alright, sometimes." He smiled, letting her know he didn't mean anything by it. "World's gone topsy-turvy. We leave school and what happens? I become studious, and you relax."

Hermione laughed. "Now all we need for the apocalypse is Ron getting all broody."

He grinned. "Don't think he's got it in him. Mopey and dopey? Down pat. Moody and Broody? Nah."

She laughed. The walked side-by-side for a bit, caught up in their recollections.

"So, how about you?" Hermione asked, breaking him out of his memories.

"Hmm?"

Hermione shook her head in exasperation. "Well, you know about my relationship status. Did you leave anybody behind? Should I expect company?"

Harry laughed ruefully. "Between Ginny, Molly, Ron and training, I haven't had the energy to deal with more drama in my life." He was lying through his teeth, of course. Fact of the matter was, after he and Ginny split he hadn't dared to – not after the first paternity suit came up. Hagrid joked that he brought a baby unicorn in so often to prove Harry's virtue that he ought to just keep it as a pet. Harry was actually tempted, although he was going to name it Rothgar the Brutal in a desperate measure to retain some masculinity. Then the whole thing with France came up….

Hermione frowned when Harry mentioned drama. She sighed, derailing his train of thought. "You know, I don't think I ever loved Ron," she said sadly. "Of all the things I miss about Britain… he's just not real anymore. I wish I could say I look back on him fondly or even that I'm bitter, but it's as if the whole thing was like a poorly written side-note in an otherwise eventful chapter."

Harry grinned. "Only you, Hermione, would describe a failed relationship using books as a metaphor."

She slapped his arm lightly. "Prat! For your edification I used a simile, not a metaphor," she imperiously mock-lectured.

The pair laughed together as they made their way to the apparition point.

Sadly enough, some stupid bastard actually tried to mug them.

The police found him three hours later, naked and screaming something about spiders.


	22. A Heiry Situation

Disclaimer: Harry Potter et. al. is the property of JKRowling et. al.

...in which KafkaExMachina overuses both parody and vocabulary.

* * *

Harry Potter sat in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive, brooding over a number of different things: Cedric's recent death at the hand of Wormtail, Voldemort's subsequent return, the lack of correspondence from his friends and the rather irritating lack of climate control in his room.

At the moment, the lack of climate control was winning the battle for the most painful thing to deal with. As such, his window was wide open in the futile hope that a breeze would enter therein. In preparation for said refreshing breeze, Harry was dressed much as nature intended, excepting the pair of ratty boxers about his hips.

Instead of a refreshing breeze, a most hideous variety of bird swooped into the room. It deposited a loosely wrapped scroll into his lap and, with a grace that belied it's pugnacious appearance, performed a perfect wing-over and swooped out of the room.

Lacking anything better to do, Harry unrolled the scroll and read the contents.

"Dear Mr. Potter,

The Inheritance Branch at Gringotts Bank has been anxiously awaiting your arrival for two years. Since you have failed to reply to the other seventy-three messages sent via postal owl, we have taken it upon ourselves to use our Custom Goblin Carrier(tm) to deliver this missive. You will find yourself deposited in our offices right about..."

Harry felt like a hook was dragging him by his navel as the room vanished from around him in a whirl.

"... now." The letter continued, quite helpfully, as Harry found himself sprawled upon a high-quality blood-red carpet.

"Mr. Potter!" A gravelly voice said 'cheerfully'. "I'm glad you could make it!" There was a surprising lack of sarcasm in the tone.

Harry looked up. He landed in a well-furnished office. He'd missed cracking his head against the mahogany desk that sat to one end by a mere half inch. The voice belonged to smiling Goblin dressed in a hideously tacky gold-lame three-piece suit.

The goblin rambled on, ignoring Harry's supine indignation. "I'm sure you're curious as to why you've found yourself in my office."

"Yes, quite." Harry replied as he stood up. He had slight rug burns across ninety percent of his torso. The goblin gestured to the chair in front of him. "Have a seat. Nice digs, by the way."

Harry blushed.

The goblin's smile widened.

"Well, as you might have guessed, this is my office in The Inheritance Branch of Gringotts Bank. I am Blingsaw, Senior Customer Satisfaction Specialist III, and it is my proud duty to inform you of your full inheritance. There's been some... complications involved in getting the full list." Blingsaw was interrupted by a pounding at the door. "And that would be one of the complications right now." As fast as lightning, Blingsaw's hand whipped out and grabbed Harry's. Before he could complain, the Goblin jabbed one sharp claw into the flesh of Harry's palm. Ignoring the boy's cry of pain, he slapped the bloody palm onto a sheet of paper.

A single solemn bell tolled. Harry didn't ask for whom the bell tolled, it tolled for he.

"Enter," the goblin said with entirely too much enthusiasm for anybody's well-being. Harry turned about, cradling his injured hand to his chest as the door was flung open.

Dumbledore burst into the room. "Harry, don't!" He cried in vain.

"Too late!" The goblin cried, not in vain.

Harry saw a sight that, for the rest of his days, would haunt his dreams.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizamgot, face-palmed.

Twice.

Before turning around and banging his head against the wall.

Twice.

"Mr. Potter," the goblin said, distracting Harry from his slack-jawed observations, "now that we have performed the Goblin Pointlessly Painful Blood-Based Inheritance Test™, it is my honor and privilege to inform you of your delightfully fantastic heritage."

"...delightfully fantastic heritage?" Harry repeated dully.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Dumbledore's head interjected.

"Oh yes, quite so." The goblin flipped the blood-stained parchment over and began to read. "Firstly, we'll cover the Families that you are the sole remaining Heir to."

"Ooookay..." Harry said. He was rather off-put by how hollow the thud made by Dumbledore's venerable noggin sounded.

"Good, good." The goblin whipped out a pair of platinum-framed glasses, rimmed with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, and looked over the parchment. "Hmmm... that's some impressively fine print here. I should have requisitioned a larger Goblin Pointlessly Painful Blood-based Inheritance Test Blood Absorbing Parchment of Doom™."

Harry never thought that gems could clash. He found himself proven wrong. "Wow... so there's a lot?" He asked wisely.

"Yup, and such an incredibly distinguished list of families here as well. Why, I'm feeling positively giddy simply being in the same room with somebody with such a splendorous pedigree."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Despite his Headmaster's antics, Harry couldn't help but become quite excited at the prospect. "Great - so lets get cracking!"

"That's the spirit!" The goblin replied. "I'll start with the top of the list. You, Harry Potter, are the sole magical Heir to the following families: Hitler, Stalin, Manson, Le Fey, Rasputin, Mussollini, Tepes, Reagen, Lector, Mao, Cho, Hannibal, Brutus, Cassius, Judas, Hyde, Dahmer, Thatcher-"

"Wait, Thatcher?" Harry asked incredulously.

"A minor family, and all-in-all not terribly distinguished, but the muggle side's done some wonderful things. Carrying on: Khan, Gryffindor, Himmler, Gaunt - due to the last Gaunt female's inappropriate relations with a Muggle named Riddle, Grindelwald..."

"Wait, wait!" Harry interrupted. The goblin paused.

"Yes?"

"Hitler? Grindelwald? Thatcher? The Hell?" Harry asked.

"I'm sorry," the goblin asked with genuine confusion. "What seems to be the problem?"

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"They're all right bloody bastards! I mean, come on! Thatcher?!?" Harry exclaimed.

The goblin grinned. "Yes! Isn't it grand! You, Mr. Potter, have almost nothing but powerful genocidal madmen in your lineage - and all the magical implications therein!"

"...magical implications?" Harry asked in a very small voice. He paused. "Wait, didn't you mention Gryffindor? He wasn't a genocidal bastard; he was a hero and one of the founders of Hogwarts!" Harry said, grasping at straws.

Blingsaw stared queerly at Harry for a moment before breaking out in a great full-bellied guffaw. "Oh... oh give me a moment," the goblin said while clutching his sides. "Oh that's grand." He looked over at Albus, who was still busily introducing his forehead to the wall. "Headmaster, just what are you teaching your children these days? Obviously not any history." The goblin turned his grin back to Harry. "Mr. Potter, you do know when Godric Gryffindor was in his prime, yes?"

Harry nodded.

"Then you should have some grasp on the times. Godric Gryffindor was a hero to his people, yes." Blingsaw slowed his words down, as if talking to a dullard. "He was a hero because he killed lots and lots of people in lots and lots of really painful ways. Think about it. Hogwarts is in a castle. Castles were built to withstand sieges. Sieges are part of warfare. The first wizarding classes weren't about cleaning dishes or mending fences, they were about cleaving skulls and mending sucking chest wounds. Why, he was so fantastically brutal and brilliantly murderous that the goblin chieftains crafted a sword, forged with basilisks venom, out of appreciation for his artistry." He smirked at the gob-smacked boy. "Oh come now, Mr. Potter - what did you think an eternally sharp blade forged with the deadliest poison in the world was used for? Dry-cleaning?" The goblin wiped the tears from his eyes. "The Goblin Nation considers Godric to be one of the greatest wizards ever for a very good reason. Here, let me show you something." The goblin reached into his desk and pulled out a brightly bound book. "I was going to give this as a present to my son, the little rapscallion."

Harry took a look. 'Godric Gryffindor - A Pop-Up Book for Goblings' the title read. He opened the book to a random page.

Harry nearly vomited.

"My... that's... realistic," he said, waving his hand at the hundred Turks impaled screaming on pikes. He could almost smell the stench wafting off of the viscera slowly dripping down the poles.

"Isn't it though? Really Mr. Potter, you should understand that most 'innocent' children's' tales revolve around the horrific tragedies of the past. Why, take this lovely children's' rhyme. I'm sure you've heard it before. 'Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down'. It seems so painfully innocent at first, but once you know the origin," the goblins said with a wide smile, "it becomes such a happy thing."

"Really?" Harry asked with no small amount of trepidation.

"Oh yes. You see, that particular rhyme originated during that great floor-show known as the Black Plague. Rings of rose flowers were worn about the neck to stave off the 'foul vapors' that were thought to cause the plague. Same with the posies. 'Ashes, ashes' refers to the morbidly gray skin of those plague victims in the final stages of morbidity... and I'm certain I don't have to tell you what 'we all fall down' means." The goblin lectured with a toothy smile.

"No... I can gather that on my own," Harry said after swallowing.

"Now, you might think this a pointless digression, but it segues quite nicely to the final name on the list. Peverell!"

Thud. Thud.

"Pardon?" Albus said. "Did you say Peverell?"

"Indeed I did," The gobin answered before turning back to Harry. "Now, being the Heir of the Peverell line carries with it three most fabulous inheritances. Firstly is the cloak which we have recorded as already being in your possession."

"The cloak?" Harry asked. "You mean my Invisibility Cloak?"

"That's the one," the goblin said. "Next is the Resurrection Stone - which is currently placed as the main gem in the Gaunt Family ring." Albus gasped. The goblin rummaged around in his desk. "Ah, there it is." The goblin placed the ring down on the desk. Albus reached a shaky hand towards it, until the goblin slapped his hand. "Stop that! It's not yours!" Dumbledore's arm retracted, chastised. "That is the second item. The third is currently in this office."

The goblin glared at Dumbledore.

"What?" Albus asked innocently.

"Give it to him," the goblin commanded.

"But... but..." Albus said.

"Don't make me get the Probity Probe," the goblin warned.

"Fine," Dumbledore said with a huff. He reached into his pocket and handed Harry his wand.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

"Just take it," Dumbledore moped. Shrugging, Harry took the wand.

"Yes, the Elder Wand," the goblin said. "The Death Stick. The Deathly Hallows united again!"

Harry stared blankly at Blingsaw.

"Oh come on! Didn't your parents read to you like a normal child?" The goblin said, exasperated at Harry's lack of excitement.

"I'm an orphan," Harry said flatly.

"Right. Forgot about that." The goblin coughed once. "No matter. So, now you possess the three Hallows." The goblin repeated.

"Oookay. And this ties in with your earlier lecture how?"

The goblin positively beamed. "That, Mr. Potter, is the best part!"

"It is?" Dumbledore asked.

Blingsaw nodded. "Oh yes, because... having all three makes you the Master of Death, a title earned by the original owner of the Deathly Hallows."

"Why do I have a sudden sinking feeling," Harry said.

Ignoring his client's words, the goblin continued. "Yes! And the Master of Death is probably the only wizard that we goblins love more than Godric! Why did I tell you the rhyme was related? Because, Mr. Potter, the Master of Death got his title by starting and spreading the Black Plague **all by himself**! It was wonderful! Plague! Misery! Suffering! War! Death! **DOOOOOOOOOM**!" The goblin cheered. "Ah… good times." He stared straight at Harry. "We goblins have high expectations for you, my boy! High expectations indeed!"

* * *

...Meanwhile, off the coast of France...

Mr. Granger was in an exceptionally good mood. They'd just returned from a brief sojourn to Bulgaria to meet that scallywag who dared abscond with his precious perfect princess's first kiss.

Why, the healers even said that young Mr. Krum might possibly regain feeling in the left side of his body some day.

"Orin!" His wife's voice interrupted his happy musings.

"What is it Audrey dearest?" Mr. Granger asked.

"We just got this letter from an owl," Audrey Granger said happily.

"Really?" Orin Granger asked. He peered at the missive in his lovely wife's hands. "It's rather brutally orange, isn't it!"

Audrey smiled affectionately at her husband. "Now snookums, don't be such a sourpus." She opened the letter. "Oh isn't that nice!"

"What does it say honeybuns?" Orin asked.

"It's a lovely thank-you note from a group that calls themselves the Chuddly Cannons. Look, they all signed it."

Mr. Granger walked over to his wife and took her in his arms. Together, they read the note.

"Hmm... excitable fellows, aren't they?" He asked dryly.

"I think it's sweet," Audrey chided her husband gently.

"Now fluffypoo, you know how I feel about sweet things," Mr. Granger said sternly.

Audrey Granger laughed. Birds dropped from the sky, and two cats fell off a wall, howling. "Oh stop snugglebunny. That was old in Dental School."

"But you still smiled, buttercup." Orin said with a laugh.

"So I did!" Audrey said happily.

And then the two began sucking on each other's faces like a pair of starving lampreys.

"For Christ's sakes, we're in public!" Hermione screeched. A block away, an old mother died.

"But we're in Paris, the City of Love!" Audrey said before returning to face-raping her husband.

"Honestly! We are in St. Troppes! Daddy, did you let mom 'read' the map again?" Hermione said bossily. The sky swallowed up the moon, and the seas turned red as blood. Well, not really, but a whale farted off the coast of Wales.

Thankfully, before Orin and Audrey Granger's outdoor activities turned from 'Things Old Ladies Gossip About In Hushed Tones' to 'Things That Violate The Laws of Man And Nature' the elder Grangers froze.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, worrying her lower lip in concern.

"I sense a disturbance in the floss." Orin said.

"Like a thousand drills whirling, then suddenly silenced." Audrey continued.

"Dentist... senses... tingling." They intoned together.

Hermione rolled her eyes. A hurricane started in China. "Oh ha ha."

"The Chosen One has Arisen!" Her parents shouted in glee.

"What are you on about?" Hermione asked, getting a bit (more) worried. In Hell, Michigan... nothing happened. The differentiated universe recognizes, but disregards, constants.

"The Lord of Evil! The Duke of Doom! The Harbinger of the Apocalypse! The Anti-Crisp!" Her parents repeated by rote in a psychotically happy sing-song.

"Whatever," Hermione said dismissively. "Everybody knows there's no such thing as Dentist Sense. You're just being silly."

"Hmph! I'll have you know that ever since I was a child, I always knew I'd be a dentist!" Audrey lectured at her daughter.

"Hear Hear!" Orin said. He began to sing.

"When I was younger,

just a bad little kid,

My mama noticed funny things I did,

Like shootin' puppies with a B B gun

I'd poison guppies, and when I was done

I'd find a pussycat and bash in its head

That's when my mama said..."

"What did she say?" Audrey sang back.

"She said, "My boy, I think someday

You'll find a way

To make your natural tendencies pay

You'll be a dentist

You have a talent for causin' things pain

Son, be a dentist

People will pay you to be inhumane

Your temperament's wrong for the priesthood

And teaching would suit you still less

Son, be a dentist

You'll be a success!"

"**Absolutely no singing**!" Hermione screeched. "Honestly! I can't take you two **anywhere**!"

"There's no time for hysterics, puddin'!" Audrey said as she grabbed her daughter.

"We've got to get you ready to meet Him! Quickly honey, do you remember where we found the perfect Dark Princess outfit?" Orin asked.

"It was that quaint fetish shop in South Berlin, I think." Ms. Granger replied.

"Well then, we're off!"

...

My Apologies to Little Shop of Horrors.

And the readers, of course.


End file.
